A World Torn Asunder
by Elissa Theirin
Summary: Elissa Cousland has known love, comfort, peace, fortune and happiness for all her life. But when her family suffers a terrible tragedy and the ultimate betrayal, she joins the Grey Wardens, where she is then hurtled into chaos, and her whole world is torn asunder, birthing a new one of blood and death. Rated T for violence, language and smut later on.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, welcome to my second fanfiction, and welcome back to those whom have read my Skyrim one (which I will finish, promise). Dragon Age: Origins is my absolute favourite game, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I do writing and playing it ;)**

**Yeah, I uploaded this again, because my wonderful beta-reader suggested some great improvements! Thank you, man!**

A World Torn Asunder

Prologue

As the Chantry's teachings dictate, it was men's pride and greed that brought the first darkspawn; tainted, vile monsters; darker and more horrid than nightmares could conjure. The mages attempted to take the heavens themselves from the Maker's hands, but were defeated and cast back onto mortal lands. With sin inside of them, they became the first darkspawn: the First Blight on the land. Near invincible.

The Dwarves were the first to succumb, as their kingdoms were devastated by the darkspawn - who drove at them repeatedly from the Deep Roads until complete and utter annihilation was upon them. When all hope seemed lost, the Grey Wardens came. Men and women, warriors and mages, Kings and Wild folk sacrificed everything to stem the tide of evil. And they prevailed.

The Grey Wardens remained vigilant by keeping watch, but the creatures never resurfaced, and Thedas thrived with four centuries of peace. The heroic order was forgotten by the citizens who once hailed them as heroes, and as their numbers dwindled, the Wardens became nothing more than a name in history books; a whisper on dead lips; a ghost of what they once were.

But now a great evil lurks on the horizon, watching and waiting. The Wardens will once again rise - and this time they won't be forgotten

Chapter 1: The Mourning before Dawn

The sound of clashing steel rang throughout the training ground of Highever Castle. _Left arm, right shoulder, left leg, midriff_. Elissa's eyes scrutinised the blade, carefully surveying its every movement, blocking the attacks in quick succession. She parried two more blows; her daggers swirled in a deadly dance of steel before she drove the blunted edges into her opponent's back.

Ser Gilmore fell to the floor. A chorus of laughter from the audience of knights echoed off the stone walls that surrounded them. She offered him her hand and he took it, humouring her with a false smile to disguise a grimace of embarrassment. He brushed strands of red hair from his eyes, and beheld her with a look of approval.

"There is nothing more I can teach you, my lady," he said, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "It seems our lessons are at an end."

"Is that so?" she asked teasingly. "Or are you simply afraid to be bested by a woman once more?"

Elissa's remark earned her more guffawing from the knights. Before Ser Gilmore could respond, a servant burst out from the door, telling Elissa she had been summoned by her father, who was waiting for her at the main great hall.

Limping back into the castle with an angry throbbing bruise; gifted to her by Ser Gilmore before she floored him; Elissa made her way through the open ceiling corridors which snaked through the majority of the Cousland family castle.

On returning to her quarters, soaked in perspiration, she bathed and then donned a simple blue satin dress; more agreeable than the heavy silver armour she was forced to train in. Being a duel-wielder, Elissa preferred light armour such as leather. But it was an order by her father that she be heavily protected. He would not let her spar, otherwise.

Brushing back her auburn hair back into their natural curls, she gave a small nod of approval to the mirror. Walking down the corridors, she did her upmost not to trip on the long swirling skirt which brushed against the grey stone. Dresses were not her personal choice, but an order by her mother. She preferred plain linen shirts and breeches. Dresses felt too tight around the waist, and two loose about the legs.

Once in the main great hall, she saw her father Bryce Cousland was not alone. With him was Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine: a small country off to the South-West of Ferelden. The Howe's and Couslands had once been bitter rivals, with their feuds continuing on through both families' lineage. Her father and Arl Howe broke that tradition. They became allies and fast friends. Elissa had been a girl of sixteen, the last time she'd seen Howe; spoilt and obnoxious but still a fair lass, and she still was. Her auburn hair tumbled in delicate ringlets about her narrow waist and she had been gifted with her mother's beautiful silver eyes; delicate, small facial features and full, pink lips. She had believed she was privy to all knowledge across the world, and had the privilege to treat others as she pleased, despite her parents and older brother's best attempts to tame her wild nature. Four years had passed, and although she retained the beauty of her teenage hood, she had been ridded of her sinful nature, replaced by compassion and wisdom, and became deeply ashamed of her previous nature.

Arl Howe had not changed much in appearance either. His steel-coloured hair was still kept short, not a single strand on his lined face. His nose was still hooked, and his eyes small and watery, but they seemed…nervous. They darted about the room, as though fixating on one place for too long would burn them from his skull. He had a large broadsword sheathed on his back, though from his string figure it was hard to imagine him using such a weapon.

Nevertheless, he and her father had both raised their banners for King Cailan Theirin, in response to the darkspawn threat looming in the South. They would be fighting alongside the Loghain, the Hero of River Dane, and the son of King Maric, who freed Ferelden from slavery in Orlais.

"I cannot apologise enough for the delay, my lord" Arl Howe said, "This delay is entirely my fault."

"No. The darkspawn threat has us all scrambling" her father replied, looking pensively into the roaring fire. "I received word from the king only a few days ago myself. I'll send my eldest off with my men, then you and I shall ride into battle together once more, like the good old days."

"Only we had less grey in our hair then. And we fought Orlesians, not…monsters."

"At least the smell will be the same" her father chuckled.

Elissa remained hovering in the doorway, deciding it best not to intrude on their strategy meeting [of sorts], but her father caught sight of her.

"Oh hello, pup! I didn't see you there. Howe you remember my daughter?"

"I see she's become a lovely young woman."

"A pleasure to see you again, my lord" she replied.

A smile quickly replaced the look of surprise that crossed his face in response to her chastised tongue. "My son Thomas asked after you. Perhaps I should bring him on my next visit?"

She hid a grimace behind a smile. The topic of arranged marriages was one that came up in many conversations; too many.

"I would like that" she lied.

"Good! He saw you at a Denerim fair recently, and has been talking about little else since. He'll be pleased you remember him."

Her father, knowing it was a subject she was not fond of, quickly rescued her. "At any rate pup, I summoned you for a reason. I want you to tell Fergus to march to battle ahead of me. I'm also leaving you in charge of the castle. A token force of soldiers will remain here, and you must keep peace on the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away."

"I'll do my best father" she said rather stiffly. She was not pleased about being left behind. She had proven herself an able fighter time and again, but it was too no avail. Her father was adamant that she remain in the castle.

"That's what I like to hear!" He said; no doubt relieved of avoiding an argument before an honoured guest. "There's also someone I want you to meet. Bring Duncan in!" He called to a sentry standing guard.

He opened the large double doors, and into the room strolled a man, garbed in white robes and a silver breastplate. His skin was a bronze colour, lightly wrinkled with age, which hadn't quite managed to touch his ebony hair pulled back into a pony tail, nor his ebony beard. He was no doubt a warrior of some kind, due to his physique, but he carried himself with a surprising amount of grace. Majesty radiated from his every pore, but his eyes were the most striking of all his features. They were as black as coal, guarded and mysterious, and seemed endless pools of strength and knowledge. Elissa was almost afraid of being swallowed up by them.

"I am honoured to be a guest in your halls, Teyrn Cousland."

"Y-your lordship? You never mentioned a Grey Warden was present" stammered Howe.

"Duncan arrived recently…unannounced. Is there some problem?"

"Of course not!" Cried Arl Howe. Slipping back into his usual etiquette style of speech. "But a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am…at a disadvantage."

"He came here in search of recruits" her father continued. "I believe he has his eye on Ser Gilmore."

"If I might be so bold, your daughter is also an excellent candidate" Duncan said, gesturing to Elissa.

A flash of fury crossed Bryce Cousland's face in the short silence that followed. He stepped in front of Elissa protectively.

"As honourable as that may be, this is my daughter we're talking about! I've not so many children that I'll see them all off to battle. Or do you intend to invoke the Rite of Conscription?"

She knew that the Grey Wardens were once a mighty order that only accepted the most skilled of fighters. They were worthy and noble. To join such an army of fighters…she perished the thought. Her father would never allow it. His interaction with Duncan was proof of that. However, she did not know what this Rite of Conscription was. She had learned much of the Wardens from Brother Aldous, but the term had never come up in her lessons.

"Have no fear. Whilst we need as many a good fighter as possible. I have no intention of forcing the issue."

That seemed to satisfy her father, who cast one look at his daughter as if ensuring himself of her presence before saying: "Pup, you should go to Fergus. I need you to deliver that message, and you'll want to say goodbye to him, while you can."

Elissa knew it was a ploy; her father wanted her out of the room to converse freely with Arl Howe and Duncan. Nevertheless, she did as her father bid. A war council was no place for a lady.

As she exited the room, Ser Gilmore almost careened into her, flushed and breathless.

"Oh I beg your pardon, my lady. I've been looking everywhere for you." He took a moment to recover his breath, before continuing, "Your hound has gotten into the larder again. Nan is threatening to leave."

Elissa chuckled. Old Nan wielded that threat as an executioner would wield a toy axe.

"She was my nanny before she was my cook. She won't leave."

"Your mother disagrees. She says I am to accompany you whilst you retrieve your hound. You know what Mabari war hounds are like. He'll listen to his mistress, but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

"Very well. To the kitchen!"

"Get that bloody mutt out of my larder!" Nan shrieked at the two cowering elven servants. She was beyond furious; grey strands falling from her bun and her steel blue eyes looking the colour of storm clouds, equal in unrelenting rage.

"But mistress, it won't let us near it" protested the male servant.

"If I can't get into that larder, I'll skin both you useless elves, I swear it" she stormed. Her tone dangerous.

"Calm down, good woman" Ser Gilmore said meekly, afraid to become the focus of her ire. "We're here to help."

She turned her ferocious glare on them, making Elissa feel like a small girl once again, being reprimanded for stealing food before dinner.

"You! And you! That bloody mongrel of yours has gotten into my larder again! That beast should be put down!"

She flinched at her harsh tone. "I'm sorry he's bothering you, Nan."

"Just get him out of there! I've enough to deal with, without a castle full of hungry soldiers!"

The larder was a mess. Tables had been tipped over; chairs, boxes and crates lay in splinters; food spilt on the floor, staining the stones in a rainbow of colours; and in the middle was Maverick wagging his tail. A look of affirmed innocence in his brown eyes.

"You've been a bad boy, you hear me?" She scolded.

He barked once at her, bounded about, then faced one of the far walls and growled.

"That's enough! To me!"

He growled louder, hackles raised.

"I said that's enough!"

As she went to grab him by the scruff of the neck, a small blur leapt past her. Pausing, one hand outreached, she surveyed the room. The source stood amidst the piles of ruined food. A rat, the size of a small domesticated cat, baring its razor-sharp teeth and with eyes red and angry. More rodents poured out from holes in the wall and from the wreckages, crawling over one another and fighting for food. Elissa froze, disgust swelling inside her.

Maverick charged past, his lips pulled back in a snarl. He swatted at them with his mighty paws, sending some squealing, landing with a sickening crunch against the far wall. He plucked one in his jaws, crushing it between his fangs, blood spewing from his mouth. Ser Gilmore dove into the fray, swiping towards the floor with his sword, halving five of them in one deadly strike. Panicked; the rats began dispersing, fleeing back into hiding, desperate for escape. Maverick chased them down, blocking their retreat, using his sharp fangs and claws, tearing through flesh and bone, until only one detestable vermin remained. It scuttled, squealing past Elissa, whom quickly grabbed a carving knife from the ground and drove it through its neck. The larder now looked a sight of carnage. Spilled blood and intestines strewn across the floor with the wreckage. She stroked her dog, guilty for reprimanding him.

"Giant rats?" Ser Gilmore shook his head in disbelief. "This is like the start of every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell. Looks like your hound wasn't raiding the larder after all."

"Looks like it" Elissa said as she scratched his ears.

"There he is, as brazen as you please!" Nan exploded the minute they left the larder. "Licking his chops after helping himself to the roast no doubt."

"He was actually defending the larder from rats" she corrected.

"Rats? Not the large grey ones? They'll rip you to shreds!" Whimpered the servants.

Nan sighed at her. "See, now you've gone and scared the servants! I hope those filthy things are dead."

"Yes, my faithful war hound made sure of that."

"I bet that dog led them here in the first place" she mused wearily. "Thank you my lady. We can get back to work now. That's right you two!" She snapped at the elves, "Quit standing about!"

"Now you've got your Mabari hound, I should go" said Ser Gilmore. "I'm to prepare for more of the Arl's men. Good evening my lady!"

"And to you" she returned generously with a smile.

Out of the kitchens and free from Nan's withering glare, she turned left towards the atrium and bedrooms, which were situated at the very pinnacle of the castle. As she neared, she could hear conversation drifting lazily along the warm evening air.

Amidst the two trees growing in the alcove, their leaves stretched towards the embrace of the sun's rays, lounged a gaggle of people, talking and laughing. The hazy evening and the wine created a benevolent yet lazy mood. Her mother stood at the centre, gossiping enough to make a tavern wench gasp in shame. She recognised her partner in crime as Lady Landra; a close friend of her mother's; the wife to Bann Loren. They hailed from a small city in the Bannorn, close to Denerim in the North-East. With her was her son Dairren, whom she was desperate to marry off to Elissa, and a young elven whom she surmised to be one of her ladies-in-waiting.

"And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year. The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, and mistook him for the King!"

Laughter rippled through the small crowd.

"Ah! And here is my lovely daughter" Eleanor Cousland purred when she caught sight of her hovering at the peripheral of the merriment. "By the presence of your troublesome hound, I take it the issue in the kitchen is resolved?"

"Yes, Nan is back to work as we speak" she replied.

"You've always had a way with her! Darling, you remember Lady Landra…Bann Loren's wife?"

"Of course! We met last year at my mother's salon, right?" She asked, deciding it best to not mention that the woman had been thoroughly besotted.

"You are too kind, dear girl. Didn't I spend the entire time trying to persuade you to marry my son Dairren?" The tone of her voice indicated that she wished to return to that topic. Inwardly, Elissa winced.

"…And made a very poor case of it, I may add" interrupted the silken voice of Dairren.

"You remember my son Dairren? He's not married either." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye that made Elissa squirm.

"Don't listen to her" Dairren said, almost apologetically. "It's good to see you again my lady. You're looking as beautiful as ever."

Elissa was unsure of how to respond. Marriage was no doubt a necessity in her life, as she would be expected to carry on the Cousland name, like her brother, but she never thought of herself suited to that life. She didn't want to lead him on and give him the wrong impression - yet she couldn't flat-out reject him; he'd been like a brother to her.

"I thank you for your kind words." It seemed like such an insufficient response, but she felt herself at a loss for words.

"You would think her beauty would make it easier to make a match for her, not harder!" Her mother lamented in a mournful tone.

"Perhaps your daughter simply has a mind of her own, your Ladyship. You should be proud" Dairren crooned smoothly.

"Proud does not get me more grandchildren!"

Nothing but to be smitten where she stood would make her mother happy.

"I can handle my own affairs" she replied. The aggression slightly tearing the edge of her voice.

Her mother scoffed. "All evidence to the contrary!"

"If you'll excuse me mother. I must see Fergus" Elissa said before storming past her mother, not waiting for a reply.

Her cheeks were alight - her temper kindled. But seeing her older brother, dressed in green scale armour with a sword on his back and his brown hair tousled, the fire fled from her, leaving only a cold residue. A reminder that Fergus and her father were to ride off to battle, leaving her to pray to Andraste, so that She would bless them with Her mercy and strength.

"Is there really going to be a war, papa?" Piped up Oren, his son of six years. "Will you bring me back a sword?"

He laughed gruffly, holding the boy in his arms. "I'll bring you the mightiest sword I can find, I promise."

"I wish you would stay" whimpered Oriana. The distress of his Antivan wife was clear on her pretty face. "My heart is in…disquiet."

Elissa ambled into the room, feeling like an intruder.

"Dry your eyes, love! My little sister is here to see me off!"

"Would you rather I waited outside?" She asked awkwardly.

"No, no, come! I'd like to say goodbye."

"I have a message. Father wishes you to ride out to battle ahead of him."

Fergus sighed, rubbing his temples in agitation. "So the Arl's men _are _ delayed, you'd think they were all marching backwards!" He looked at his son and shot him a wicked grin. "Well, I must be off then. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time!"

"Maker watch over our brothers, husbands and sons, and deliver them safely back to us" prayed Oriana quietly.

"…And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it! For the men, of course" Fergus added quickly upon seeing his wife's expression.

Kissing his wife goodbye, then giving his son a hug, he motioned for Elissa to walk with him to the gate. A dead silence wrung between them as they walked through the narrow corridors of the castle, to the entrance gates.

They opened to reveal the small handsome village with thatched roofs, stretching as near to the horizon as they dared - and lying beyond that, a wilderness that may very well swallow up her brother, stealing him from her forever. The sun was setting over the green hills. Feigning innocence, the sky becoming a canvas of red, orange and gold, soon to give way to the black of night.

"Goodbye sister." The words were spoken solemnly, punching through the deafening silence. Two simple words that shook her core, made this moment all the more real. He was leaving. To battle _monsters_. She threw her arm around his neck, gripping so fiercely as though she dare not release him from her grasp. But he disentangled himself from her arms, mounted his horse, and left - galloping away into the civilised wilderness - vanishing into sunset.

**Sorry if this was a little dull, it will be exciting next chapter, promise! Thank for taking the time to read this!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Please note that I changed the first chapter shortly after I uploaded it, so if you've returned from reading the original first chapter, you may want to read the newer version as it covers more plot progression. Thanks!**

Chapter 2: A New Dawn Rises

Though midnight had dawned, Bryce remained in the drawing room, pouring over strategy maps for the upcoming battle at Ostagar. His son had already left in response to the summoning. It broke Bryce's heart to leave his wife and daughter, but as king he could ask forassistance. His plea would not go unanswered, as Highever would stand with their king, and defend Ferelden with their lives.

He rubbed his eyes as a wave of fatigue washed over him. So much had happened of late. He was wondering if he should continue strategy plans on the morrow with Rendon, when a thunderous boom echoed over the castle; its' very foundations shook.

"What in the Maker's name…?"

His exclamation remained unfinished as a soldier burst in the room, blood leaking from an arrow shaft in his shoulder.

"The castle…under attack…I—"

His words were cut off as another arrow ripped through his chest. He looked on in shock, before falling. Bryce**;** trapped in a stupor of horrified amazement; could only watch as the man's body slumped lifeless to the ground.

Suddenly, two dozen men poured into the room**;** somewere Bryce's own, fighting against the horde of intruders. Withswords flashing dangerously, each side risked striking bothfriend and foe. As one intruder parried a blow delivered by another man; Bryce recognised the sigil on their shields. It was the coat of arms of Amaranthine. Those men were unmistakably Howe's. The men were eitheracting on their own, in a mutiny against Howe **-** or Howe had in fact ordered them to attack. Bryce wished more than anything that it was the former, but those men were loyal to Howe, and followed his orders without question. Howe had betrayed him.

Rage coursed through his veins, blurred his vision and made him blind to all else but that sigil**;** that sign that had been one of friendship to Bryce for years. Now he detested its sight. **A**bhorred its existence.

Grabbing a sword from the rack next to the fire, he jumped into the fray, side-stepping a vicious blow that would have easily severed him in half. Swinging the sword, he stuck one man, the steel tearing through armour, flesh and bone. He fell with a guttural chocking noise. He struck at another, who blocked the repeated swings for his head, until his arm gave way to the tremendous strength, his skull left undefended-and severed.

The blood was pumping furiously through his veins, adrenaline fuelling him. He would not allow these treacherous bastards to enter his home, threatening his men and family. He would die before he allowed it to come to that.

His chivalry ended when he felt a hot stabbing pain to his side. Looking with trepidation, he saw a blade had wedged itself into his right side, below his ribs, blood seeping from the wound. Fury and adrenaline flew from him. He felt utter shock. The blood that dripped from the wound onto the floor, he couldn't believe it was his own. It seemed so surreal, to die here at his own home **at** the hands of his former friend. The blade was removed and he felt its cold edge chafe the torn, raw edges of cut flesh, muscle and sinew. He fell to his knees, which were warmed by the pool ofhis ownblood. The sword fell from his hand, clattering loudly against the stone floor. Howe's soldier brought the sword above his head, the steel glistening red. He looked at him. He was young, no older than Elissa, still a boy. Yet there it was on his face, a bloodied, sadistic smile, a testament to his enjoyment of killing. He licked the blood from his lips, tasting death on his tongue, anticipating it.

As the sword was brought down to his neck, cutting through the air with a vengeance, the sound of steel impacting on bones resounded through the air. Ser Gilmore had smashed him full in the face with his shield, the young soldier staggered back, clutching a bloody, crooked nose, eyes stung with tears of pain. Ser Gilmore struck again, mercilessly, plunging his blade through his breastplate.

Bryce had already scrambled to his feet, ignoring his nerves screaming in protest to the exertion. Elissa and Eleanor**:** he had to know they were safe. If his life was to beforfeit, he would get them to safety, at least. Ser Gilmore shouted to him, begging him not to go, but he knew he must.

His family would not die of Howe's treachery.

Her leather grieves pounded on the ground furiously, as she urged her body onwards. Her blood and sweat soaked hand clung tightly to her mothers, whose aged body struggled with the pace. Maverick ran alongside her, aware of his mistress' distress. She sprinted down away from the bedrooms. The sight of horrors, of friends and family members whose blood had been shed by Arl Howe of all people. Lady Landra, along with her son Dairren and maid Iona had been murdered. Alas, it was not the greatest tragedy that awaited their eyes. In her brothers room had been the bodies of Oriana, and Oren. A wife and son, slaughtered as they slept, oblivious to the turmoil. So young, so innocent, yet no mercy was offered unto them. Howe meant to murder them all.

She felt the tears flying off her face as she propelled forwards, her willpower dwindling, her strength leaving her. But she could not be weak, for her mother's sake. She had to remain strong for her. At the sight of her grandson's lifeless form, Eleanor had sunk to the ground, grasped by despair, composure leaving her. Elissa had had to drag her away from the abhorred sight. She gave her mother's hand a reassuring squeeze, the main hall room was mere yards away, where the main gates resided. Where they hoped to find their husband and father.

They burst through the doors**. **There weresigns of a recent struggle, shown through the bodies still leaking blood. The smell tainted the air.

"My lady! Your ladyship!" Cried a voice, which upon inspection of the room wasrevealed to belong to Ser Gilmore. "You're both safe!"

"Alive, but not safe," Elissa responded grimly. "None of us are."

"Ser Gilmore, where is Bryce?" Demanded her mother.

He shook his head sadly. "The Teyrn…he was badly wounded. I begged him not to go, but he was determined to find you both. He left for the servants' exit in the larder. That's where he thought to find you."

An earth–shattering boom resounded through the air, so tremendous Elissa almost lost her footing. Ser Gilmore looked towards the doors, which led to the entrance of the castle, with an expression as angry as it was worried.

"You must go!" He exclaimed, "The Arl's men have been trying to penetrate this door. It sounds as though they'reclose to succeeding. Leave while you have the chance."

Elissa was afraid of what he was saying. His words sounded likethe words of a dead man, spoken on lips that belonged to a corpse.

"Come with us," she said.

"If I do that, you won't be able to escape."

She sucked in a breath, her lungs filling with air that tasted like death. He meant to die.

"Maker watch over you," her mother intoned solemnly.

"May He watch over us all," he replied, before running to the gates for one last glorious battle.

The kitchen was deserted, apart from an intense sense of dread instilled upon all the doomed souls that dared cross its threshold. The darkness swallowed the whole room, except for the corner in which a sconce threw a dim orange light across the floor, revealing outlines of bodies. The metallic smell of blood clung in the atmosphere. Almost suffocating**,** Elissa crept in cautiously, as though afraid that her presence would awaken a terrible beast, hungry for her blood**; for** surely these deeds were beyond evil thatany man was capable of.

She gingerly stepped over the bodies, feeling the squelch of flesh and intestines saturated in blood under her boots. She clung ever tighter to her mother's hand. Maverick darted ahead, consumed by the darkness.

"Maverick!" The word came out as a low hiss, but still sounded too loud in the silence.

He barked in reply, the echo disabling her from pinpointing his location. Cursing, she grabbed the torch from its sconce on the wall, the dim light soothing. Its hue cast down on the sickening carnage, revealing not only the bodies of soldiers, but servants, butchered for merely having the audacity to exist. The orange light finely found Maverick, in front of the larder door, shut tight. Letting go of her mother**'s** hand, she seized the door handle. With great apprehension, she slowly swung open the door, cursing the abominable creaking of its hinges. The larder was well-lit, a huge roaring fire and numerous sconces affording light the kitchen was deprived of. But the light rendered it a more miserable room, as it revealed a sight most unwelcome; one that would be embedded into her brain for her waking and slumbering hours.

Her father on the floor, propped up on his elbow, the blood dripping from a wound to his side, blood splattered all over his person.

"T-there you both are," he gasped, his voice laced with agony and emotion.

"Bryce!" Her mother cried, shooting straight over to him, Elissa on her heels.

"Makers blood, you're bleeding!" Eleanor exclaimed, "What happened?"

"Howe's men found me. Almost…did me in." He gritted his teeth, conversation proving difficult for him. "Someone must reach F-Fergus…tell him what happened—"

He broke off in a groan of agony. "…and take vengeance." His daughter finished.

"Yes…vengeance."

"No, Bryce, the servant's passage is right here, we can get you out, find you healing magic…" she rambled. Her tone was desperate, she was desperate, to find a solution for all the remaining Couslands to flee together, but her mind had sorted through all the scenarios, like Elissa's, all with one same ending.

"The castle is surrounded, I cannot make it."

"I'm afraid what the Teyrn says is true."

Elissa jumped at the sound of an alien voice behind her. She stood and turned, hand going to the pommels of her daggers. It was not Howe's men, as she conjectured, but Duncan, sheathing his own weapon, his armour of silver and white wasstained with the red blood of man.

"Getting out will be difficult, near impossible with an injured man," he continued, his tone inappropriately calm.

"Duncan, I-I beg you…get my wife and daughter to safety.

He hesitated before giving an answer. "I will, but there is something I must ask in return."

"Anything."

"I came here seeking a recruit. The Blight demands that I leave with one."

Bryce looked at Elissa. Their eyes met andthat's when she realised they were speaking of her. Duncan intended to draft her into the Warden's ranks in return for safe departure. She knew what this meant. She would abandon her life of nobility; become a warrior, for her mother's safety. Her father's fate was sealed. A heavy price to pay.

"I consent," Bryce answered, in a defeated tone.

"Then I offer you a place with us," Duncan said to Elissa.

Shaking back her auburn hair, she looked at him, her eyes filled with the pride and strength she had left to muster.

"I accept."

"Bryce, are you sure?" Her mother asked.

"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery." He replied, courage and power in his voice, "She will live, and make her mark on this world."

"Darling, go with Duncan," her mother said, her eyes never straying from her husband.

"Eleanor, no!" Bryce protested.

"I can't allow this." The strength had fled from Elissa; the words tumbled out as a broken plea of a child.

"You have a better chance to escape without me," she said, addressing both her husband and daughter "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to give you a chance to escape, but I won't abandon you!"

"Eleanor…"

"Hush, Bryce. We did the best we can; it is up to our children now."

"Go, pup. Know that me and your mother love you. You do us proud."

Broken tears streamed from Elissa's eyes, her body hunched over, a crushing weight on her shoulders. Duncan seized her by the shoulders, dragging her roughly into the exit, Maverick trailing, ears down, tail tucked between his legs. The last sight of her parents was blurred by uncontrollable tears.

As she was continually dragged through the tunnel that led out of the castle, she heard the sound of steel tearing through flesh. Strangled gasps, then unbearable silence. Elissa stopped struggling, became very still. A part of her had died.

"We will be travelling south through the Hinterlands to the ruins of Ostagar, on the edges of the Kocari Wilds. The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands. It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe in that forest."

The words fell dead on her ears. All she could see were her own two feet, each step laboured and weary. Each breath felt tainted and poisoned, ready to drown her. Each drop of blood that fell from her hands where her nails bit into her flesh, felt like the blood of her father, whom she failed to protect, and the mother she condemned to die.

"Are you alright?" A redundant question, he knew, but one heasked still. The sound of his voice felt odd. It was the sound of another human, a companion. But she never answered. She kept her eyes on her two feet, which continued trudging over the blades of grass that smothered the Hinterlands.

She travelled this way, pining silently like a child denied a toy, until she became dimly aware of a shadow falling across her person.

Great white buildings and arches **(**age and battle undone most of their stone masonry**)**, loomed over her, hundreds of feet tall, stretching toward the blue sky; their beauty mocked her grief. The grass gave way to a solid stone floor, continuing on to a great white bridge, at least aquarter of a league long. The centrepiece of this picture was a huge tower, thrust out to the sky taller than all the rest - four tiers of pure, white stone.

"Ho there, Duncan!" A figure clad in embossed heavy armour of gold hailed him heartily.

"King Cailan! I wasn't expecting a-"

"Royal welcome?" King Cailan grasped his forearm like he was greeting an old friend, "I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun."

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty."

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious! The other recruits told me you had found a promising recruit." He turned his kindly golden gaze on Elissa. "I take it this is she?"

"Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty."

"No need Duncan. You are Bryce's youngest, are you not? I don't think we've ever actually met."

"Yes, your Majesty. My name is Elissa." She said. The words felt thick and heavy on her tongue.

"Your brother has already arrived with Highever's men, but we're still awaiting your father."

"You—you don't know what's happened?" She asked soberly.

"News from the North has been unreliable. What's happened?"

"Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty," Duncan answered simply, "Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped he would have killed us, and told you any story he wished."

Numerous different emotions flickered over the Kings' comely face before he found his voice again.

"I… can scarcely believe it! How could he think he would get away with such treachery! As soon as we are done here, I will turn m**y **army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word."

"What kind of justice?" There was a bite in her voice** - **one she thought she didn't possess.

"He will hang," The King promised solemnly. "I knowit will not bring your family back, but Howe will not profit from this.

"No doubt you wish to see your brother. Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds."

"But he may be in danger!" She cried.

"We are all in danger, my friend. Nothing can be done until your brother returns, and that will not be until the battle is over. I apologise, but there is nothing I can do. All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being."

"Thank you anyway, your Majesty," Elissa replied, her tone as sincere as she could manage.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I must return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

"Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week," Duncan interjected.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory!" All the pity and sorrow were gone, his child-like gaiety fresh in his features. "We've won three battles against these monsters and this one should be no different."

"Sounds like the Blight is almost over," observed Elissa, though she was sceptical.

"To be honest, I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. We've seen plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, there isn't any sign of an archdemon."

"Disappointed, your Majesty?" Asked Duncan, raising one bushy eyebrow.

"I was hoping for a battle like in the legends… a king riding out to battle alongside the Grey Wardens against a tainted God. But, I suppose this shall have to do. I must go, before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens."

Duncan gave a bow, and Elissa curtseyed as best she could in leather breast-plate and skirt.

"What the king says is true," Said Duncan when Cailan was out of earshot, "We have won three battles here."

"But you don't sound very reassured."

Duncan motioned for her to walk with him, towards the bridges suspended over a yawning chasm.

"Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us. I know there's an Archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

"What do you need me to do?" Elissa asked wearily.

"Feel free to explore the camp as you wish, all I ask is that you do not leave it. When you feel ready, seek out another Grey Warden by the name of Alistair, and tell him it's time to seek out the other recruits. Your hound can stay with me while I attend to some business."

Maverick gave a bark of approval, then trotted off after Duncan. Elissa looked over the bridge, beholding Ostagar.

The ruins that clung to the mountains in the intimate fashion of a lover over-looked the gorge with seething eyes ever-vigilant for intruders. They were great, white structures, all thrust towards the sky, and eager for its embrace. Ruined and complete arches and buildings stood together on a canopy of white stone, tufts of grass and weeds which crept out of some ofthe cracks, causing a splash of green on an otherwise bland canvas. Tents of different shapes and colours where dotted around in a hive of activity. The people there were doing their utmost to remain ignorant to the imminent danger for the time being, and complete strangers to grief. Elissa squared her shoulders, and entered the camp, ready to join within their ranks.

**This was really long over-due, I know. I'm sorry, I feel bad, believe me. And please excuse the fact that I suck at making up chapter titles! Well, I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you're looking forward to the next chapter whenever I get it back from my beta-reader (lol), take care of yourselves and enjoy the rest of your day!**

**And though he took his sweet time, I'd like to thank my beta-reader Dylan who went the extra-mile making this chapter as fabulous as possible! I appreciate it man, *bro fist* **


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is a little shorter than the other two, I know, and the title sucks but I was so stuck trying to think one up (I'll change it if I can think up something better) but I hope you still enjoy it. Reviews are always appreciated! Again, big thanks to my amazing beta-reader Dylan, and to those who have followed and favourited!**

Chapter 3: The Journey's Start

Surely this is a joke, thought Alistair, as he headed north through the ruins. An ex-templar being sent to take a message to a mage from a Revered Mother? It must be. Alistair heaved a sigh, running his fingers through his cropped hair, a habit of his. Mages just love me, he thought with another sigh.

Ostagar was a hive of activity today. Most mages from the Circle were practising their spells in a corner, watched closely by Templars, who kept curious onlookers from getting a closer look. Knights sparred in pairs, polished armour or sharpened blades**;** the sound of whetstones scraping across steel wasalmost soothing. Some gathered around fires and flagons of wine, playing cards, fear and anticipation disguised behind false laughter. Others knelt before Chantry Sisters, seeking the Maker's blessing for the battle ahead. In all the eyes of the people partaking in different activities was the same subdued anxiety. Alistair wondered how many would abandon hope and courage when the darkspawn where upon them.

He noticed thenew faces of elves, mages, dwarves and humans**;** most from the kings' army, but he knew Duncan had gathered three new recruits. The last was arriving today**:** a noble lady from Highever. Duncan had informed him by letter of her…situation. Her entire family had been slaughtered by Arl Rendon Howe who had taken the Cousland's castle for himself. He couldn't believe anyone could be so heartless and now this poor woman would become a Grey Warden** -** fight a hopeless battle against monsters. How could anyone hope to survive that, never mind retain their sanity?

The sight of the mage on the dais overlooking the valley stopped him in his tracks. Inwardly groaning, he squared his broad shoulders and prepared himself. The mage regarded him with an angry glare as he approached. He could hardly blame the man. No doubt the mage was aware that Alistair was a templar. Or, rather, nearly had been one. Mages and templars did not get along.

"What is it now?" He asked through gritted teeth. "Haven't the Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"

"I'm just here to deliver a message, Ser Mage," Alistair replied, careful to keep his tone polite. "The Revered Mother desires your presence."

He regarded him with an expression of annoyance. "What her Reverence desires is of no concern to me. I am busy helping the Grey Wardens—by the kings' orders, I may add!"

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" Alistair asked, part in jest.

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"

"Yes, I was harassing _you_ by delivering a message."

The mage became aware he was being mocked, and anger flashed in his black eyes. "Your glibness does you no credit."

"And here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you—the grumpy one."

"Enough, I will go speak to the woman if I must," the mage said, his tone wary.

"Get out of my way, fool!" He snapped at a woman standing a few feet away. No doubt she had seen the exchange.

He regretted that she had**;** she was lovely. Her eyes were a silver colour, framed by long, thick lashes. Her skin was white, and flawless. She had masses of auburn hair which fell to her narrow waist.

"You know one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," he said smiling.

Her silver eyes regarded him with curiosity. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, nothing - just trying to find a bright side to all of this. You're Duncan's newest recruit, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm Elissa," she said, offering one slender hand.

"I'm Alistair," he replied, returning the handshake. "…which you probably knew already. As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you whilst you prepare for the Joining."

She threw a brief glance over her shoulder before asking, "That argument…what was it about?"

"You mean with the mage? The Circle is here at the Wardens' request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. They just love letting mages know how unwelcome they are, which puts me in a bit of an awkward position. I was once a templar."

"You were a mage hunter?" Her tone revealed disbelief.

Alistair winced. It was a name commonly associated with the templars, but still not something he relished being dubbed. It reminded him of the first and last Harrowing he had attended**;** the test to see if mages can resist demons. The girl being tested couldn't—she was killed in a heartbeat.

"Not that that's all templars do, but yes. The Revered Mother probably meant it as an insult, sending me as her messenger, and the mage picked right up on that. I wouldn't have agreed to deliver it but Duncan says we're all to cooperate and get along. Apparently they didn't get the same speech."

"What can you tell me about the Joining**?**"

Alistair felt caught off guard by the sudden question. He shifted uncomfortably before saying: "Not much. We can't tell recruits what it entails. We will have to go into the Wilds though; there are some things we need to collect."

"Really? Such as?"

She was inquisitive, he had to admit.

"As I said before, I can't tell you. You'll find out yourself soon enough, I promise."

"Well, I could find out now if you tell me. Would it be so harmful?" She asked cunningly.

"Would that I could, but Duncan would flay me. Speaking of, we should really head back to him right now," Alistair said, in a weak attempt to avoid her probing questions.

"I look forward to travelling with you."

"You do? Huh…that's a switch. If you have any questions-that _don't_ regard the Joining—let me know. Otherwise, follow me."

He led her away from the dais, through two crumbling archways back into the Grey Warden camp**;** tents of all different colours werescattered about like a smashed rainbow. His companion was quiet now. **C**uriosity and enthusiasm leeched from her; she looked the personification of fatigue and despair. Not surprising after what had happened. It couldn't be easy for her; her parents massacred and her brother missing in action; she was now expected to take up arms in thewar. He sure wouldn't be strong enough to cope. Alistair couldn't help but admire her mental strength.

"Ah, you found Alistair, did you?" Duncan observed once they reached him. He noticed there was a mabari hound lying next to him, looking dejected and tired. "I'll assume you're ready to begin the preparations** - **assuming you're quite finished riling up the mages, Alistair."

"What can I say**?** The Revered Mother ambushed me." He went to pet the dog, but retracted his arm at the threatening growl that rumbled in its chest. "The way she wields guilt** -** they should just stick her in the army."

"So she forced you to sass the mage, did she? We can't afford to antagonise anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give them more ammunition against us."

"I apologiseDuncan. I'll go collect who we're missing."

Alistair left to track down the other two recruits: Daveth, a cutpurse from Denerim, and Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe. He honestly didn't know what Duncan saw in Daveth. He was a criminal, being tried for petty theft, and had an arrogant personality that rubbed him the wrong way. Ser Jory was more…agreeable in character, but very old-fashioned, and a slight craven. He was more jumpy than a Chantry mouse.

They proved fairly easy to find. Daveth was by the Merchants quarter, chasing skirt as usual. He was just harassing one of the serving girls when Alistair dragged him away. Ser Jory was praying before a Chantry Sister…exactly where he had left him two hours ago. Though anxious, he was giddy as a child when he told him Duncan had summoned him. When all three recruits were introduced, Alistair felt a pang of guilt for the trials they would be put through to become a Grey Warden, and for what followed.

"Your four will be heading into the Kocari Wilds to perform two tasks," Duncan intoned firmly. "The first will be to collect three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."

The three of them exchanged looks of mingled surprise and disgust. He dreaded to see how they would react when they found out what they had to do with that blood.

"And the second task?" Elissa inquired apprehensively.

"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some important documents have been left there, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

"Of course," he replied.

"These scrolls contain treaties promising support **-** treaties that will prove valuable in the days to come. Watch over your charges Alistair. Return quickly and safely."

"We will."

"Then may the Maker watch over you."

Thereon they headed to the spiked wooden gates, beyond which sprawled the Wilds**;** home to darkspawn, barbarians, Chasind folk and even the fabled Witch of the Wilds. They could only guess at the danger that lurked in the foggy, damp marshlands.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: One's Inner Nature

In her wolf form, Morrigan prowled in the shadows of the trees, her paws leaving indents upon the soft, moist ground, the feel of the soft moss and wet soil pleasant against her paws. Her acute sense of smell caught hints of the wild flowers that blossomed, the scent of other animals, packs of wolves lying in wait for prey. And intruders. Four humans. She could also hear the squelch of their greaves as they trampled through the bogs, along with the rustling of leaves in the wind, the chirping of birds, and skittering of insects, their miniscule legs scratching against the bark of the trees. The peaceful, solitary afternoon was destroyed at the intrusion. Instead of confronting them immediately, she decided to follow them. She wanted to know why they were here, and from whence they came. Though it were possible they were Wardens, or of the kings' army, after all, twas no secret they set camp in Ostagar to fight the darkspawn incursion; they could be bandits, very probable from their weapons, or just mere travellers, passing through to escape the oncoming horde.

Through her narrowed eyes, she could perceive three males; the one leading them wore armor made from metal splints, plain and unadorned. He was strong of stature, and had dark blonde hair flicked up at the front, and amber-coloured eyes. He had a lack of subtlety and aloofness, from having no fear of the dangers in the Wilds, though a more likely explanation was that he was a complete fool. Following him were two men, one with sheared black hair, stubble gathered on his chin from a lack of shaving, carrying a heavy stench of liquor and body odour she could smell even from her hiding place. The third had auburn hair receding at his temples, and grace and elegance he might have once possessed stolen by age. The fourth was a woman. She was the youngest of them, possessing great beauty and grace. She was not the strongest, which was a trait that probably belonged to the blonde-haired man; there still seemed something…more about her. Morrigan was unsure of how to explain the peculiar sensation, but something greater, more admirable, existed within her. She was the most potent by far.

Though there was a flash of horror on her face when she first beheld a darkspawn, this spark remained within her. The leader threw himself into the fray without hesitation, his sword spilling tainted blood and intestines from the filthy creatures. The woman followed, her daggers flying through the air with artistry, leaving the other two men gawking, mouths agape like half-wits. She parried a blow, stabbed the creature then slits its throat. The two fools started fighting, the younger defending, not moving offensively at all. The older was opposite; he swung his great sword, panicked, leaving himself dangerously open. In his blinding fear, he near cut down his allies.

Soon though, the battle was over, the leader and girl made up for the lack of prowess of the other two. The leader then did the most curious thing: he removed three empty vials from his pack, and filled each with blood from the felled darkspawn. The blood was dark red, almost black, swirling with relentless energy. Morrigan could not hazard a guess as to why they would need the blood, tis worthless. Unless it was a sick perversion…? Eyes narrowed in suspicion, she followed after them with a flick of her tail. The leader led them northwards, to the Tevinter temples that lay in the clutches of the vegetation and bogs of the Wilds, leaving only empty corpses of what were once strong and beautiful holds, swallowed by the very Wilds they once tamed.

Where do they go? She wondered. The knowledge the leader had of the Wilds piques her interest. They stopped when they spied an injured man, dragging his near-lifeless body to their feet, reeking of desperation.

"Who...who…?" He asked in a pathetic, broken voice. "Grey Wardens?"

"Well, he's not as dead as he looks, is he?" Quipped the leader, a sad attempt at humour.

"Darkspawn came out of nowhere, a-attacked me and my men. Please—" He broke off with a groan of agony. "I-I need to get back to camp. Please…"

"We should bandage him up at least," the woman suggested diplomatically.

The leader bent down, cleaned out the man's wound, the tied bandages around it, a pointless delay in Morrigan's opinion. Unsurprisingly, the balding man began to quake in fear.

"Did you hear that? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory," said the leader, "We'll be fine if we're careful."

Ser Jory? Morrigan snorted derisively. It seems cravens can gain knighthoods too.

"Those men were careful, and they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in this forest."

"There's darkspawn about but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde."

"How do you know? I'm not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should turn back."

"We're far from helpless here. We'll be fine," said the girl, with admirable restraint.

"That is…true," Jory said, though he was hardly comforted.

"Know this," said the leader, his voice painfully patronizing, "All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I can guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here.

"You see, Ser Knight?" Piped up the smelly man, "We might die, but we'll be warned about it first."

"Very reassuring, Daveth," replied Jory, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however. So let's get a move on."

So there was a knight and a Warden. The nature of the other two, however, remained a mystery. But this party were set to be intriguing.

Why are they here? She wondered. Surely there was more to their venture into the Wilds than darkspawn blood.

They encountered more darkspawn, this time the cravenly knight maintained his composure. Blocking an attack with his shield to his right flank, he cut down one darkspawn, cleaving it in two. The other, Daveth, used a bow and arrow, with surprising accuracy. The girl danced lightly away attacks, flipping herself over on one hand, narrowly avoiding being cut in two. She met one sword with both daggers, kicked the beast in the midriff, awarding its sloppiness with a deep cut to the chest. The blonde-haired leader challenged two darkspawn at once, knocking one aside with his shield, killing the other with his sword. The downed darkspawn reached for its blade in a frenzy, but he stomped on its' arm, the bone crunching beneath his boot, then stabbed it through its' skull. A light smile of satisfaction played on his lips.

Continuing the follow the trail from a hill overlooking them, she saw them come to a dilapidated tower, long since fallen into ruin. Twas their destination, no doubt, as one could only go backwards from here, and paths only known to Morrigan. She stood on a dais, connected to the lower platform the foursome stood on by a slope. They were inspecting an old broken chest, se enraptured in it despite its' lack of contents they failed to notice her presence. Now was the time to confront these strangers, she knew. She transformed back into her human form, feeling the familiar tugging sensation on her skeletal frame as it restructured back into a humans, her amber eyes, full pink lips and black hair tied back into a spiked bun, replacing her silver eyes, snout and black fur covering her body.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

She slowly strolled towards them, now having their undivided attention.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" She continued, "A scavenger, picking amidst a corpse whose bones have long since been picked clean. Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

She haltered once she was before them, her yellow eyes sweeping them all with a warning to make their business known then leave. They were not welcome here.

"We are neither," spoke the leader, "The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

"Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have long since claimed this decimated corpse."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" Cried Daveth. "She'll turn us all into toads!"

Morrigan couldn't supress a smirk. "Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? You there," she nodded to the girl, "Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine."

"My name is Elissa. A pleasure to meet you," she replied, pleasing Morrigan with unexpected manners. "This is Alistair, Daveth and Ser Jory."

"That is a proper civil greeting, even her in the Wilds! You may call me Morrigan. Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest. Something that is here no longer."

"Here no longer?" Quoted Alistair, "You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of sneaky…witch-thief!"

Morrigan's smirk deepened. The man was more a fool than he looked. "How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems. Those documents were Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

Morrigan's anger drove away her smirk. "I will not, for twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here if you wish. I am not threatened."

"Then who removed them?" Asked Elissa.

"Twas my mother, in fact."

"Can you take us to her?"

Elissa was becoming an exceedingly agreeable person.

"Now there's as sensible request. I like you."

"I'd be careful," interjected Alistair, "First it's 'I like you!', then ZAP! Frog time!"

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch!" Cried Daveth.

"If the pot's any warmer than this forest, it'll be a nice change," responded Jory.

"Follow me then, if it pleases you."

Alistair and Elissa followed without hesitation through the uncultivated vegetation, to the west of the tower; Daveth and Jory did so more reluctantly. She led them on the path she had prowled as both woman and beast, to her home, which was little more than a glorified mud hut. Walls were built from stone and mud, the roof a jumbled heap of straw. Her mother stood outside, arms folded over her chest, looking as though she were awaiting their arrival.

"Greetings mother," she hailed her, "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them girl. Much as I expected."

"Are we honestly supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asked in disbelief.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one eyes tight, or open one's eyes wide, either way, ones a fool!"

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is! We shouldn't be talking to her!"

"Quiet Daveth!" Hissed Jory, "If she really is a Witch, do you want to make her mad!?"

Her mother regarded them with amusement. "Now there's a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things, but it is not I decides. Believe what you will. And what of you?" She was addressing Elissa. "Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint, or do you believe as these boys do?"

She paused for a moment, before saying: "Many things exist together in this world, mysterious and mundane. I am unsure what category of these you fit into. But I am not to judge others, simply because they live differently to what I do."

Her mother looked pleased, able to see the worth in her. "Wise, wise words! Yet so much about you is uncertain. But I believe. Do I? Why yes, I believe I do!"

"So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair asked dryly.

"Witch of the Wilds?" Her mother cackled. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!"

Morrigan's cheeks coloured with embarrassment. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, mother."

"True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected them."

She stooped and picked up the scrolls from the floor, looking as though they had awaited retrieval.

"You!—Oh. You protected them?" Alistair exclaimed, accepting them.

"And why not? Tale them back to your Wardens, and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realise."

"Thank you for returning them," said Elissa.

"Such manners! Always I the last place you look. Like stockings!" At their bemused expressions her mother barked a laugh. "Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for."

"Time for you to go then." Morrigan said sharply.

"Don't be ridiculous, girl. These are you guests."

"Oh, right. Follow me," she said, with forced politeness.

She led them back along the route they had come, until they arrived at the gates leading into Ostagar, before elusively slipping away. Transforming into a raven, she flew back home, safe from prying eyes.

"Be aware, girl," her mother said once she rejoined her. "The winds of change blow. A storm is brewing, and the two Wardens will be caught in the eye. A time will come when we must offer unto them our services."

Morrigan was left speechless, and just regarded her suspiciously. Just how much did the old woman know?

**This hasn't been read and improved by my beta-reader yet but he takes so long I thought I best just post this, as I was feeling really bad that I hadn't posted a chapter in a while.**

**I wrote this from Morrigan's perspective as I wanted to make this more interesting by having different P.O.V's and it's a test to see how well I can capture different voices. So, let me know what y'all think ;P**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Rebirth

Elissa lay in her bedroll that night, feeling utterly exhausted. Sleep continued to elude her, even when she knew how much she required it; the battle and Joining would be upon them the following eve. The thoughts plagued her, occupying her mind with so many worries. She sighed, sitting upright rubbing her swollen eyes, reflecting on the days' events.

Her, Alistair and the other two recruits had managed to successfully gathered blood, though what for remained a mystery. The Joining they would undertake on the morrow, after they broke the fast. She was unsure of what other trials lay ahead, but she was determined to see it through till the end. Then, once the Blight was ended, she would be free to find Fergus and avenge her parents. Fergus would be the new Teyrn. Howe had no right to their land or titles. Neither did Elissa, now she was a Warden. Her brother however…_if he still lives _a small voice intoned.

Exhaling once more, she abandoned her nightclothes and donned her boots and a cloak over her linen shirt and breeches. Sleep refused to deliver her from the anxiety that tore at her, perhaps she could pass the night with other occupations.

Ostagar was still a hive of activity by nightfall. Under the silver light of the moon, she saw men drinking away their worries, shining weapons and armor, smiths sweating over forges to make last-minute repairs, some groups talking in small huddles and hushed voices, and some men and women seeking each other's company in small, isolated corners. The talk, laughter and clang of metal cut through the cold southern air, filling it with warmth and sense of fellowship. All were nervous, but they were together. United.

The bridge she had crossed twice today was desolate; her only company the ballistae that had been erected earlier.

She sat on a low stone wall, the only barrier between her and the fatal plunge into the gorge below. She gazed down at the green rolling hills of the valley in which the bottom of the Ostagar ruins where embedded in, reaching high above her head like monumental finger bones, eager to touch the sky.

A fierce wind tugged her at her cloak and hair. She hugged her cloak closer to herself, eager for its warmth, not caring her body rocked precariously on the edge, aware that a slight increase in its speed would send her tumbling to her death.

She heard two voices approaching her. Looking up she could discern armoured figures coming onto the bridge. Swinging herself off from her sitting position, she crouched behind a ballista ahead of her, not wishing to answer for her late night excursions to the outskirts of Ostagar. Duncan had after all commanded her to remain in camp.

As the two figures walked out from the shadows cast by the tall statues that stood sentry to the entrance to the camp, and she saw the two figures were in fact Duncan and Alistair. Above the cacophony of the wind blowing in her ear she could just about hear snippets of their conversation.

"This battle may indeed be my last," Duncan was saying, looking out to the valley with an expression of serenity.

"W-what do you mean?" Alistair asked, in a discomposed manner.

"The real nightmares have come. The taint won't spare me much longer."

There hung a deadly silence.

"I-I see." Emotion was thick in Alistair's voice.

"It is a fate that awaits us all Alistair. Such is the price the Wardens pay, be it late in life, or during their Joining."

A sickening feeling filled her. Nightmares? Taint? How did this relate to the Joining? She edged forward, curiosity flooded her not unlike a deluge of water swelled into tumult by a storm.

"I…I know that."

Alistair sounded so dejected; her heart ached with sympathy, and guilt. She was eavesdropping on what was clearly a private conversation.

"I am sorry, Alistair, but it may be up to you to help the new Wardens settle in to their new life, those who survive."

Those who survive!? The words hit Elissa like a sharp strike in her face. The Joining was…fatal? Elissa froze, skin prickling, her limbs numbing.

"Yes, I will."

"You should get some sleep, Alistair. A long day awaits us at dawn."

Duncan took his leave. Alistair sat close to where Elissa hid, face buried in his hands. She was unsure of whether he was weeping. Elissa waited awhile, dithering whether to slink past Alistair back to her tent or talk to him. Though she hadn't understood the whole exchange, she gathered Duncan was dying, who was a father figure to Alistair. Having so recently lost her own, she was able to empathize.

Like a craven, she tried to sneak past him, each footstep made carefully silent, but he still somehow sensed her presence.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was hoarse, his amber eyes frozen over with a harsh coldness alien in his eyes.

"I was, um, unable to sleep," she stammered like a fool, ashamed of being caught. "So I-I went for a walk. I saw you here, and didn't wish to disturb you…"

From his expression, she could tell he didn't find her excuse plausible. Her lying was atrocious. Nevertheless, he turned from her, and said: "You should go get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

"Of course. Good night, Alistair."

"Night Elissa."

Once back in the safe solitude of her tent, she huddled in her bedroll, stroking Maverick, his soft fur somewhat comforting.

The words 'Joining', 'nightmares', 'taint', and 'survive' swirling in her mind. The sound of the words horrified her, and haunted her dreams when sleep finally cradled her in its' tainted wings. It was not the peaceful black oblivion for long. Images filled her mind.

"_It's the price all Grey Wardens must pay…" _ Duncan's words echoed across the decayed, barren landscape cowering beneath a grey sky. She could see herself there, but her back was to her.

She turned to her, and was sickened by herself.

Her hair and clothes remained unchanged, but her face… It was twisted, distorted. Her skin was even paler, but it was not the fair white of snow, it was colour synonymous with death and disease, with blots of black upon the shrivelled skin. The colour was almost drained from her eyes; they were almost white. Her lips were cracked and dry, pulled back over her lips in a snarl. Blood dripped from her hands, each finger ending with a bloodied claw.

_Those who survive…_

At her feet were bodies. Some unfamiliar, but some were. There were her Oren, Oriana, Fergus, and her parents, as well as Daveth, Jory and Alistair. Blood dripped from her fangs, and a dry, throaty chuckle passed her lips. Duncan faced her, holding a large vase, inside was the swirling red blood of darkspawn.

_The price…Nightmares…the price…_

He approached her with the vase and emptied its contents over her head, the wash of red obscuring her from view. When it passed, in the place of the twisted parody of her was a full-fledged darkspawn, her auburn curls gone, all things human remaining stolen away.

She awoke, shaking and shivering, bile rising from the back of her throat. Light filtered through the canvas of her tent. Morning was here. Donning her armor with fumbling fingers, she stumbled out of her tent, the sight of a glorious morning a welcome sight, chasing away the dark clouds that lingered from her nightmares.

She found the 'mess hall', which was little more than four long wooden tables and benches running alongside each other, under the light of the morning sun, situated between a circle of pillars. They were waylaid with bowls of porridge, plates filled with bacon, ham, beef and sausages, platters of tomatoes, apples, bananas, grapes and oranges, baskets of crusted bread with butter and jam and jugs of water and wine.

Upon sighting Alistair, Daveth and Jory, she also spied an empty seat next to them, which she occupied. There was already a platter filled with food, and a tankard of water waiting her. It wasn't until she tasted the food she realised how hungry she was. Her table etiquette was abandoned, she shovelled food by the mouthful, porridge, smoked salmon, crispy bacon, salted ham, a crust of bread smothered in butter and jam, then jugged down the water in two gulps. Alistair only grinned at her ferocious appetite, but Daveth and Jory simply gaped at her, before tucking into their own meal.

Alistair ate with a more vengeful fury than her, scarcely swallowing, with four large helpings of everything available. How the man managed to stomach all of it was beyond her. But it was not just him. All the Wardens were eating what seemed like impossible amounts. She wondered if this was a side-effect of the Joining.

Once breakfast was over, the soldiers dispersed among the ruins, yester-eves chores needing to be finished. Alistair told the three recruits they were to report to Duncan in one hour, for their Joining. The anticipation was painfully suspenseful. She washed herself in a small stream of freezing water, playing fetch with Maverick, and wondering listlessly around the ruins until the time was upon them. Outside of Duncan's tent, he simply intoned the enigmatic words: "Alistair, take them to the old temple."

With a silence that cut through the air like valyrian steel, he led them from the bustle of the camp, to an old temple, falling into complete disrepair. The ceiling was non-existent, the pillars and crumbling walls supporting the air, unusually heavy and still. The sun was now hiding behind clouds of grey, rays of light struggling through. Daveth and Ser Jory began bickering incessantly, but the voices were drowned out by the pumping of her heart.

They waited, Daveth and Jory till arguing, Elissa pacing listlessly, Alistair uncharacteristically silent and staid.

"Thus we come to the Joining," Duncan said when he arrived, holding a large white chalice. "And so it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint. As they did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power…and victory."

A hushed silence swept over the recruits as they digested what Duncan had said. She finally understood the conversation she had overheard. The taint she had heard mentioned was taken into them by drinking the blood of darkspawn. The ground suddenly became unsteady, spinning violently.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining. But these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

He bowed his head as though in prayer, before saying: "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows were we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry out the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that you're sacrifice won't be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

"Step forward, Daveth," said Duncan solemnly, handing him the chalice.

Without hesitation he accepted, drinking from its depths. He remained still and silent for a moment. But then he doubled over, unleashing an inhuman screech of pain. His eyes opened, and they were completely blank, devoid of colour and life. He collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and gasping, then became still.

"I am sorry Daveth. Jory, step forward."

Jory backed away from Duncan with undiluted fear, his back pressing against a wall.

"No, I have a wife, a child. Had I known."

"There is no turning back."

"You ask too much. There is no glory in this."

He unsheathed his sword. Duncan set down the chalice, his eyes becoming dangerous, and loosed his own weapon. Jory lashed out, a desperate cornered animal. Duncan blocked his blows easily and with unsettling calmness, then sank his blade into his abdomen.

"I'm sorry," he said solemnly as he sunk to the ground.

He turned to Elissa, Joining goblet in hand. "But the Joining is not yet complete. You have been called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good. From here on out, you are a Grey Warden."

Every fibre in her body screamed at her to escape, stir a muscle or articulate thought, but she couldn't. She was transfixed in place, frozen in horror. She accepted the proffered chalice unbidden by her own mind, staring into the murky liquid. She brought it to her lips, feeling it sting her skin. It's very essence tasted evil as it slithered down her throat.

The pain clawed at her every nerve, setting them all alight. The agony tore through her whole being, she opened her mouth to scream, but only a gurgled gasp came out. She wished for an end, blissful oblivion of all feeling.

Darkness took her, but transmogrified into thousands of darkspawn, beholding a dragon, the orange torches held aloft by the darkspawn glistening against its purple scales, bringing each alive. Its eyes were wholly white, blank of thought and feeling. Its unfurled its' terrible wings, stretching them out against the backdrop of a poisonous green sky. Its' terrible voice rose with the darkspawns, filling her mind with a cacophony of distortion.

Her eyes flew open, and were greeted with Duncan and Alistair, leaning over her, wearing expressions of relief.

"It's over. Welcome. How do you feel?" asked Duncan, as she regained sense and balance.

"It's over. I'm fine." The words spoken were lies. She felt awful. There were aches all over her body, energy in the tainted blood that flowed through her veins, one she could scarce contain. She felt as though the veins would burst and her body would drain of all her blood.

"Did you have dreams?" Alistair inquired with concern. "I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense darkspawn. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come. Take some time," Duncan said kindly. "When you are ready, I want you to accompany me to a meeting with the king."

"What sort of meeting? She asked, trying to ignore the spinning and pounding of her head. She spoke with much more composure than she contained within her brain, which was a jumble of inarticulate thoughts and the processing of such agony.

"A strategy meeting for the upcoming battle. I do not know why he has requested you."

"Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us of those who didn't make it this far," Alistair said, and he handed her a tiny vial of the blood used in the Joining attached to a delicate silver chain.

With trembling fingers she clasped it round her neck. It was amazing, and frightening, that such a small thing could kill a full-grown man, with such agony and suffering. The pendant would be a remembrance of the power and strength that even the smallest of objects or creatures in the Maker's planet could master.

Duncan and Alistair left, the former to the meeting, the latter back to camp. Elissa remained where she was, and broke. The dam she had built to hold back the tide of feeling crumbled to ash, allowing a drowning sea of pain to wash over her, until it leaked unrelentlessly from her eyes. She cried for the family she had loved and lost. She cried for the brothers-in-arms who lay crumpled on the ground next to her. She cried for the pain that ran through her body. And lastly, she cried for the Elissa that had died, the part of her soul that remained behind with her parents, to be slaughtered by Howe. She cried for that loss of innocence and happiness. Once the tears ceased, Elissa Cousland was no more. She was Elissa of the Grey Wardens.

**Sorry it's been a while but well, I've been busy :P Good news is that all the chapters I've sent my beta-reader have been given the thumbs-up, which means that I'll be able to update on a more regular basis. Enjoys, guys and girls! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Before the Battle

The meeting was already in session when she arrived, and the king was present. As was the mage Alistair had been arguing with yesterday, a Chantry Sister, and an unmistakable man: Teyrn Loghain, Hero of River Dane, father of Queen Anora Mac Tir, the man who had fought alongside King Maric to drive out the Orlesians whom enslaved them. He was here in all his grim glory. His black hair was swept back from his face, which scowled from a pattern of age lines. His eyes were dark, even darker then Duncan's, empty black voids of strength and prowess. His armor was a heavy suit of metal set over chainmail shirt and leggings, plain save for the intricate swirls on the shoulder roundels.

"Loghain, my decision is final," King Cailan intoned resolutely, "I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault."

"You risk too much, Cailan. The horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the frontlines," Loghain said, his voice terse as Cailan's.

"If that's true, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all."

Loghain's black eyes flashed dangerously. "I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves."

Cailan's glare was equally angry. "It is not a fool notion. Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past. And you will remember who is king."

"How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved use for over half a century."

"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they? Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty."

"Ah, and there is Lady Cousland!" The king's countenance brightened as he spotted her. "I understand congratulations are in order."

Elissa didn't feel special, but seeing his innocent adoration of heroes and legends, she humoured him, smiling and thanking him.

"Every Grey Warden is needed now," he said with fierce passion. "You should feel honoured to join their ranks."

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing Cailan. We must attend to reality!" Snapped Loghain, with barely contained anger.

"Fine! Speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then…?" The king asked, pouring over a map.

Loghain leaned onto the table, indicating on the map. "You signal my men to charge from cover—"

"To flank the darkspawn." Cailin interrupted. "I remember. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Who shall light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there. It isn't a dangerous task, but it is vital."

"Then we shall send our best." Cailan paused, his countenance indecipherable. "Send Alistair and Lady Elissa to ensure it is done."

It was a hard blow, an insult to Elissa. Not allowed to fight at her father's side because of her status and gender, and now amongst a new family, part of an army, she was still not to be sent into battle.

"If it's not dangerous, I can go alone," she said defiantly. She was determined to salvage as much honour and dignity for herself as possible, to prove herself to the men.

He looked at her, eyes shockingly similar to Alistair's. There was an unexpected sadness in them. "No, it's best you both go."

"Your Majesty, you should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing," cut in Duncan.

"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds," said Loghain, frowning.

"Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?" Asked Cailan.

"I—yes, your Majesty."

The mage rushed forth, seizing the opportunity to speak. "Your majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary, the Circle of Magi—"

"We will not trust our lives to your spells, mage," spat a Chantry Sister. "Save them for the darkspawn!"

"Enough! This plan will suffice," Loghain sighed, his voice so weary he sounded as though he had aged some decades in the duration of the meeting, "The Wardens will light the beacon."

"Thank you Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!"

A dark shadow flitted across Loghain's face as he muttered: "Yes, Cailan. A glorious moment for us all."

"You heard what the king said," Duncan intoned, once he and Elissa were rejoined with Alistair. "You and Alistair are to light the beacon in the Tower of Ishal."

Tritely, Alistair was none too happy. "I won't be in the battle!?"

"This is by the kings' personal request, Alistair. Without the beacon, the Teyrns' men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs two Grey Wardens up there to hold the torch just in case, right?"

"I agree with Alistair. We are capable and formidable on the battlefield. It would be wise for us to be sent to fight alongside our brothers and sisters," Elissa said, doubting that their roles would be altered at such a time.

"That's not for you to decide. If the king wishes Grey Wardens to light the beacon, Grey Wardens will light the beacon. We must do what we can to battle the darkspawn. Exciting or no."

"I get it, I get it," Alistair said wearily. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"I wouldn't discard such an idea hastily," Elissa giggled, "That could be an excellent distraction."

"Me shimmying down the darkspawn line?" Alistair chortled. "Sure, we could kill them while they rolled around laughing."

Something akin to a weary sigh passed Duncan's lips.

"The tower is on the far side of the gorge; we passed it on the way to camp. You will need to cross the bridge to reach it. I think it best your hound wait here until after battle."

Maverick gave a soft whine of disapproval, pleading with his mistress with large rounded eyes filled with innocence.

She stroked him softly. "Do not worry for me so, boy. I am to be kept out of the dangerous battles. King's orders."

"I must join the others. From here on, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

"Duncan! May the Maker watch over you," Alistair said softly.

"May He watch over us all," he returned.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Ending of an Age

Night consumed the sky, painting it an indigo colour, black clouds creeping overhead. The only light to be found from the sky was the round, full moon which afforded a gentle silver hue to the land below. The darkened heavens opened, unleashing a torrent of rain. Dappled in this mystical light were thousands of men, women, elves, dwarves and mages, standing together, bated breath, weapons clutched in perspirated hands.

The Wardens first came aware of their presence. A scratching sensation at the back of their mind, a whispering of alien voices in their ears. Darkspawn.

From the mist swirling amidst the trees, they appeared. Hurlocks, the tall creatures, the white skin pulled so taut over their skull it looked transparent. They had no ears to speak of, only gaping holes on either side of their heads. Yellow eyes glared out from sunken sockets, ad a twisted smile played across their non-existent lips. Genlocks, the shorter cousins to hurlocks, were squat, stout creatures with pointy ears and sickly green skin and no nose. The ogres stood taller than the two, twice as tall as hurlocks and thrice the girth of genlocks. They had blue skin, red eyes and fearsome horns upon their head. All three were completely different but equally as fearsome. As they poured endlessly forth from the Wilds, they brought with them the stench of filth and rot.

Nervousness filled the humans standing before them, but they did not break. They stood their ground, preparing for the onslaught. The darkspawn stopped, withdrawing crude weapons, screeching in frenzied excitement.

"Archers!"

At the kings command, a volley of flaming arrows were loosed, a cloud of orange raining death down upon them, burying themselves in exposed flesh.

A pack of mabaris followed. Over a dozen coursers charged forth, painted with fearsome war-ink. Hounds of black, green and red streaked forth, jumping atop foes, ripping off chunks of flesh, muzzles dripping with blood and meat. The less fortunate were impaled on swords and spears.

"FOR FERELDEN!"

The soldiers joined their voices with the kings', raising their swords and sprinting to meet the oncoming horde. A thunderous boom sounded from the dance of steel as a tidal wave of silver clashed against a roiling black mist.

From the bridge the sounds of the pursuing battle could be heard. The clash of steel, the cries of the wounded and dying, and under that cacophony of slaughter, was the bestial voices of the darkspawn. She could hear and feel them, beckoning her tainted blood, crying for each other like separated brothers, torn apart by the omnipotent force of distance.

"Let's just cross the bridge and get to the Tower of Ishal!" Alistair cried over the din of battle, tearing her mind back to the present place.

Ballistae lined the bridge, flinging flaming boulders in reciprocation to the crude darkspawn catapults, which flung severed body parts and faeces as well as dangerous missives warning death.

Across the other side of the gorge, the familiar ruins where she had meet the king greeted them, the tall arches, decimated walls, and looming above all of them the Tower of Ishal, the night making it look more foreboding.

She could feel them. Clawing at the back of her mind. They were near. Drawing closer to the tower, the sensations became stronger. Alistair and Elissa exchanged cautionary glances. Something was amiss. A stray soldier and mage sprinted towards them, wearing harried expressions.

"You! You're Grey Wardens? Thank the Maker! The tower…it's been taken," explained the soldier.

"What are you talking about man? Taken how?" demanded Alistair.

"The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers! They're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!"

"Then we have to get to the beacons and light it ourselves!" Alistair declared. "You two, with us!"

A path of stone and grass riddled with soldiers against darkspawn stood between them and their goal, though some darkspawn remained unmolested, loosing arrows from the battlements.

As Elissa and the other three sprinted past, one hurlock leapt off the wooden scaffolding landing on top of Elissa, knocking her on her back. It roared at her, specking her face with saliva. She struggled underneath it, a vain attempt to unsheathe her weapons. The hurlock laughed as she lashed against it, feeling helpless. It pressed its jagged blade to her throat, drawing a drop of blood. She tensed, feeling it dripping down her throat onto the grass below her. It was happening. She was going to die. She waited for it, preparing herself for the sword to tear open her jugular. It never came. Instead, rivulets of blood flowed from the back of the hurlocks head. Its eyes widened in surprise, before the tip of a blade surfaced between its eyes, soaking her in a fine red mist. Through a mask of red liquid, she squinted up to see the tall figure of Alistair, hand outstretched to her. She accepted it, and he pulled her easily to her feet. Wordlessly, he motioned for her to follow him, into the yawning mouth of the tower.

Chaos reigned inside. Alistair led them through the wreckage, grimacing as he sloshed through blood and innards soaking the floor. He could hear the darkspawn, but nothing else. They chattered away like children, never ending. Couldn't even get a moment's peace and quiet.

The bodies on the first floor were still leaking blood, which meant a recent battle had taken place. They needed to be careful. Maker knows how many darkspawn had broken from the horde. Though he wanted to know why they had broken away. They were supposed to be with the rest of the darkspawn, not here. And as they rounded the corner, a group of darkspawn assailed them. Typical. Nothing could ever go to plan.

Alistair rushed the creatures, overwhelming one with his shield as he struck another with his sword. The mage, whose name they learnt was Jasper froze one hurlock, and as Elissa cut through it, it exploded in a shower of scarlet ice. The soldier, called Hugh, struck at a genlock, but was parried. Retaliating, Hugh blocked the genlock, then Alistair lopped off its' head. A darkspawn mage, or emissary, appeared from the darkness and hurled an explosive fireball from its' staff. The four of them managed to scatter just in time, the heat searing their skin.

It shot a lightning bolt at Elissa, whom danced out of the way, nimbly leapt, her dagger aimed, but was knocked back by a glyph. Alistair drained the mana from the beast, as the templars had taught him—feeling within him the mana coursing through the hurlock, then draining it from its' body. A blue glow shone from the emissary into Alistair, leeching it of its' ability to cast spells. Not wasting a moment, Elissa and Hugh hacked it to pieces.

They crept forward into the dim light which threw a colour of burgundy onto the circular walls, watching the shadows as though afraid darkspawn would manifest from the darkness.

"Nice trick." Elissa's sudden voice in the darkness made Alistair jump. "Can you teach others to fight as you do?"

"No. I need someone's who's trained as a soldier first. It is as much about discipline as anything else. You also need lyrium, it's said." He added reluctantly. Lyrium was a drug. And not a medicinal one.

Her confused look prompted him to continue. "Templars are given lyrium to develop those types of magical talents, which means we become addicted. Fortunately, I was recruited into the Wardens before I took my final vows. Once you become a templar you can't leave. Without the lyrium, you'll begin to suffer withdrawals. Since the Chantry controls the lyrium trade with the dwarves…well, I'm sure you can put two and two together."

Her pretty face fell into a mask of horror. "How utterly inhumane! I can't believe they would do such a thing!"

Alistair clenched his jaw. "Well, they do it. And they feel perfectly justified. I don't think lyrium is needed, it just makes templars talents more effective. Maybe it doesn't even do that. I think the Chantry just doesn't want their templars to get away so they can spread their secrets. I'm a bit of an exception, lucky me."

"Wait. Do you hear that?" Hugh asked, pausing.

Alistair sensed it more than he heard it. A group of darkspawn, advancing towards them quickly. Funny, though. It felts as though they were on the other side of the wall. How could they hope to—

His reverie was interrupted as an ogre careened through the wall with a loud crash, marking its thunderous entrance with a spray of debris and broken bricks.

It roared at them and thumped its' meaty chest before seizing a large chunk of the wall and tossing it at them. Alistair, Elissa and Hugh managed to evade it. Jasper wasn't so lucky. The projectile struck him, sending him flying against the wall with a wet smack as his flesh and bone pulverised, chucks of bone oozing out with blood and mushed flesh.

It plucked a distracted Elissa from the ground. Panicked, she froze before stabbing at its' hand with a dagger, but it only tightened its grip. As he and Hugh vainly cut at it, in an attempt to free her, he heard one of her ribs crack. With a yelp of pain she dropped her weapons. Hugh plunged his sword through its thigh. With a roar of pain, the ogre flung Elissa away, whom landed painfully with an agonized groan, and rubbed at her rib cage. With an injured leg, the ogre fled with surprising speed, its bulky form melting into the shadows.

"Poor bugger," Hugh muttered, kneeling next to Jasper. "No one deserves that end."

"Are you ok?" Alistair asked Elissa.

"Nothing I can't survive," she answered with a wince. "We can't afford to delay much longer. And we mustn't let this man's sacrifice be in vain."

On the other side of the wall which marked their entrance were the stairs to the second floor. Alistair cursed whoever built this damnable tower, for putting stairs on the opposite side to the entrance. They clearly just wanted to be difficult on purpose.

As they traversed the second floor, he had a sinking feeling the three might become two. From the large circular room they entered, they skirted into the rounded corridor. Some twenty yards in front of them was, of course, a group of darkspawn. Crouching behind a wall, Elissa pointed to herself, then the two ballistae mounted in front of them. Would that Alistair was half as stealthy as Elissa, so he could do it. He hated the fact that he was letting an injured woman risking her life whilst he hid.

Running in a crouch, Elissa kneeled behind the first ballista, and pulled back on the firing mechanism, nocking the huge bolt, then released, loosing it, impaling four darkspawn. Before the rest could organise, Elissa had already fired the other, decimating the rest. She gave a small smile of satisfaction, which quickly changed into a grimace of pain as she straightened her posture.

This corridor was marginally smaller than the last, so they moved quickly, not attacked by anymore darkspawn.

As they entered the third floor, Alistair and Elissa traded jests about why the darkspawn where here on the tower. A crossbow bolt buried itself in Hugh's neck, ceasing their laughter and jokes. The two stood momentarily stunned before gathering their wits. Opposite them, about ten feet away, was a genlock with a crossbow, wearing a smug and malevolent grin.

Unsheathing a throwing knife from her belt, Elissa threw it, and it twirled through the air before hitting it square in the forehead. Darkspawn flew from every angle, surrounding them. Alistair blocked an attack to his right-flank, dodged a swing to his head. Using a smite, another templar ability were the user unleashed a wall of energy from their body to knock back foes, he stabbed a fallen genlock in the stomach. Elissa, her pain temporarily forgotten, she traded blows with a hurlock, increasing her speed with each successive strike until it could no longer keep up with her. Cutting through its chest to the right, then the left finished it off. Alistair swept another's sword to the side before taking of its head.

Slightly breathless and covered in blood, they looked down at the fallen soldier, his body lying amidst a sea of darkspawn corpses. Alistair felt the stabbing sensation of guilt. He was the senior member of the four, and had let two die. He felt ashamed. As a Grey Warden, he hadn't even been able to tell the difference between a group of darkspawn and an ogre. If he had, maybe Jasper might still be alive. And if he hadn't been laughing and joking, he may have saved Hugh. Looking at Elissa, he vowed not to let another die under his command.

Leaving the sight of carnage, they sprinted up the stairs to the fourth floor, to the tower's pinnacle, ignoring sensations of fatigue. In the middle of the room under the dome-shaped ceiling was the ogre they had fought off earlier, feasting on the bodies of both darkspawn and human. It stopped its meal at their intrusion, spittle and blood flying from its mouth as it roared an angry greeting,

The ogre ducked its head and charged at Alistair with its horns. He grabbed them, a pathetic attempt to stop its movement. He was flung clean off his feet, his teeth and bones rattling as he landed, the ache immobilising him.

Elissa side-stepped a punch which splintered the floor below. As Alistair rose, the ogre leapt in the air, landing on both fists sending a shockwave that knocked her off balance. Before it could deal the finishing blow, Alistair summoned what little strength he had left, dived on its back and drove his sword through its spine. It howled in pain, stood up and clawed at it back to try and pry him off. He drove the blade in deeper, twisting it slightly. The ogre staggered, blinded by the pain and swung its meaty arms wildly, before falling down. As Alistair removed his blade, Elissa ran to the pyre of wood prepared for the beacon, ripping torch from the wall and throwing it no the wood, the orange flames spreading quickly. They had done it. The war would soon be over.

The orange flames leaped from the peak of the Tower of Ishal, greeted by a chorus of weary cheers, the fighting men welcoming the sight of their salvation. Still fending off the darkspawn endlessly pouring into the opening on which they fought, the trees were watched for Teyrn Loghain's men. As they waited, patience became anticipation; the flanking charge could not come soon enough. They eagerly waited to be delivered from the jaws of death. Teyrn Loghain and his men would save them.

Loghain could see the beacon. It looked an ugly scar on the black sky.

"Sound…the retreat," he ordered Cauthrien.

She started at his exclamation. "But what about the king? Should we not—"

He grabbed her forearm, staring hard into her eyes. He would not allow insubordination. "Do as I command."

There was a madness in his eyes. They looked different than the eyes of the man whom had lifted Cauthrien from the farmhold and given her honour, a will and way to fight.

Wrenching her arm to free from his grasp, she cried "Pull out, all of you! Let's move!"

Without question, protest, or even a flicker of emotion, they marched in perfect form, leaving Ostagar and all its monsters behind.

Except for the one with dark hair and darker eyes. He spared the beacon one last disdainful look before following his men. The age of the Wardens was over before it had truly begun. And the king would fall with them. Who better to be the scapegoats than the heroes he so revered?

Backed against the face of a sheer cliff face, the fight continued raging, and hope dwindled. The darkspawns numbers grew, theirs became sparser. The soldiers were slaughtered, overwhelmed by numbers. The light of hope was completely snuffed out, even though the beacon continued to glow, mocking them with its beautiful yet terrible light. Duncan killed yet another hurlock, but two more Wardens died. It seemed for every darkspawn killed, Duncan lost two of his men.

Hearing a whispering noise at the back of his mind, het turned to face an ogre, weapons at the ready, but was knocked away, as it selected the king as its quarry.

The creature plucked the king from the ground, holding him in one gargantuan fist, roaring in his face with great ferocity. Cailan, having dropped his sword, clawed at its hand with his arms, desperate for escape and deliverance from its vice grip. Then his body was crushed in one second, soaking his corpse in blood then he was thrown away like he was no more than a ragdoll. Duncan could only watch the scene in horror. The sight if Cailan's lifeless body filled Duncan with rage. He used the exertion of emotion to push himself from the ground, sprint towards the ogre, everything else insignificant. Jumping up, he drove his sword through its chest, then its dagger through its left shoulder, pulling out his weapons then driving them in once more, the fell beast collapsing to the ground. Duncan limped towards King Cailan, a tearing pain from an injury in his side. He knelt beside his corpse, staunching the flow of blood as though defying death itself. He looked to the blood still being shed, the last of the kings men and Wardens mercilessly cut down. He looked to the beacon. A symbol of hope, a cry for aid answered by broken promises. Betrayal. He felt a sharp object tear through his chest. Looking down, he saw an axe lodged there, looming over him a hurlock, eyes filled with nothing but greed, a hunger for bloodshed and death. The thought that these creatures were to be left free to spread their taint around Ferelden was the one that accompanied him to his grave, there on the battlefield beside Cailan, that orange light in the sky the last thing he saw. The light which now bathed Elissa and Alistair.

Flemeth tore through the skies, her black wings and body camouflaged against the stormy night. Her warning to the Warden it seemed had gone unheeded. Much as she had predicted, the Blight had not been defeated, but left to its' own devices. Teyrn Loghain had ignored the call. Leaving the last of the Wardens to their early graves. Well, all except two who might yet be saved. After all, fate had much in store for them. Today they could not die. In her mind, she could see them. Weary and worn, they sat next to another, enjoying the brief repose offered to them. They were oblivious to the battle having been lost in the valley, but they still waited and worried. Smiles hid the anxiety they felt. But their countenances exhibited surprise as a group of darkspawn flooded the room. No sooner has they got to their feet before they fell, struck down by four arrows.

Flemeth smashed through the ceiling, plucking up one young Warden in each talon before taking flight, the arrows loosed by panicked and angry darkspawn whistling past her.

She flew with a vengeance back to the Wilds. No time could be wasted. In the year ahead of them, much was still to be done.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

Her eyes protested with soreness as they were pried open, the harsh light seeming alien. Black was all she had seen for so long, the existence of other colours had all but been forgotten. Now she could see nothing but white. And she couldn't move, she could not even twitch a muscle. Elissa began to doubt that she was still alive. That was until the pain. It tore through her whole body, and it felt like her whole person was being ripped apart. Her mouth was open in a scream of pain, but she was unsure if she emitted any sound. A cool hand was placed on her forehead, from which flowed a tingling sensation, before black claimed her again.

But the white penetrated again, what felt like days later. Again nothing but white, the pain reduced to a dull ache. The white soon became alive, even though the colours were just the dull beige ceiling and wall, with a dark oak floor, she had never seen such lively colours.

The room came into focus: four white walls, with one fifth one jutting out slightly in the ways of a barrier between the two identical beds, one of which her broken body lay. Nothing adorned the room apart from a trunk at the foot of each bed, a wardrobe in the far corner, and a bookshelf, which a familiar woman stood before, persuing the dusty leather-bound tomes.

"Morrigan." Her voice cracked from disuse.

At the utterance of her name, she turned to face her, her countenance slightly surprised but bore no indication of relief or joy at her recovery.

"Your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased."

It took Elissa a moment before she recollected the events that had landed her in the Wilds, feverish and injured.

"What happened to the king? The army?" The question flew from her in panic.

"Dead," she replied simply. "The man who was supposed to respond to your signal quite the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Your friend…he is not taking it well.

"Alistair? Is he alright?" Elissa asked in concern.

"He is…as you are, only with more pining. He is outside by the fire with mother. Both are eager to see you."

She sat up shakily, nausea assaulting her when she rose to her feet. With embarrassment, she realised she had been stripped down to her smallclothes. Wordlessly, Morrigan handed Elissa her leather armor, daggers and pack, which contained the supplies she had salvaged from home.

"Thank you, Morrigan," she said, remembering her manners.

"I—you are welcome, though mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

Morrigan remained in the hut to prepare dinner, whilst Elissa left. The Wilds were familiar; so humid the air was stifling, alive with the countless animals and insects. Scant sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick green clouds overhead.

"See, here is your fellow Grey Warden," crooned Morrigan's mother to Alistair. "You worry too much young man."

Alistair twisted quickly, eyes wide with disbelief and astonishment.

"You…you're alive! I thought you were dead for sure." His voice was thick with emotion and awe.

"I'm not. Your concern is appreciated," she replied, feeling genuinely touched.

"This doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."

"Do not talk about me as though I'm not present, lad," she sniped with displeasure.

"I didn't mean—but what do we call you? You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Alistair's face melted into a mask of shock. "**The** Flemeth from the legends? Daveth was right, you're the Witch of the Wilds aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" She replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I know a bit of magic and it has served you both well, hasn't it?"

"It doesn't matter what she is!" Elissa cried with more anger than intended "The king and army is dead. We must act!"

"It has always been an Grey Wardens duty to unite the lands against a Blight, or did that change while I wasn't looking?"

"Of course not!" Alistair said hotly.

"But the land is no longer united. Loghain has torn it asunder," Elissa responded bitterly.

"The darkspawn was almost defeated," Alistair growled. "Why would Loghain do this?"

"Now that is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows greater than any tainted creature," Flemeth answered cryptically. "Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmanoeuvre. Perhaps he doesn't see the evil behind it is the true threat."

Alistair's expression soured. "The archdemon."

"The archdemon must be slain," Elissa interjected, "But it would be a task impossible to accomplish between us two."

A mischievous twinkle was kindled in Flemeth's yellow eyes at these words. "You have more at your disposal than you think. Have the Grey Wardens no allies these days?"

"Of course!" Alistair cried with excitement, "The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, mages and elves! They're obligated to help us during a Blight."

"There is your means to destroying the archdemon," Flemeth declared. "An army."

"So can we do this? Go to all these different places and build an army?"

"We must. It is our duty as the surviving Wardens," Elissa said solemnly.

On that moment, Morrigan slipped from out the hut, walking with an air of dignity and grace that would be enough to send any noble woman into fits of jealousy.

"The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Are we to have two guests for the eve—or none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly girl. And you will be joining them."

Alistair and Elissa silently stared in the wake of Flemeth's statement. Morrigan comprehended seconds later.

"Such a shame—what!?"

"You heard me girl. Last time I looked you had ears." Flemeth chortled.

"Thank you, but if she doesn't wish to come with us…" Elissa protested.

"Her magic will be useful. Better yet, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have **I **no say in this!?" She protested in a manner unlike her.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years, girl. Here is your chance. As for you Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate." The voice that spoke these words was Alistair the templar, not Alistair the likeable and goofy Warden.

Flemeth bristled at this. "If you didn't wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

"Point taken."

"Allow me to get my things, if you please," snapped Morrigan, pushing past her mother.

When she returned to them, she had regained her composed demeanour. Alistair and Elissa wandered away a few paces whilst Morrigan and Flemeth said an awkward farewell. The difference in the relationship Morrigan had with her mother in comparison to Elissa's and her parents was rather startling. They had respect for each other, and considered one another blood, but there was a lack of genuine concern and love. Elissa, from infancy to adulthood, had been bestowed with a mother's maternal affection and her father's gentle guidance to find her path that she had lived with much contentment. No doubt Morrigan's rather harsh and distrustful demeanour stemmed from the absence of a caring domestic figure.

"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a small village to the north as your first destination. Tis not far, and you will find much you need there. Or if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

"I think we should just get underway," Elissa said. They'd wasted enough time.

Morrigan spared her home and mother one last yearnful look before leading Alistair and Elissa through a path overgrown with shrubbery and weeds. The trees that punctuated their path were so dense it shunned all light. Without a guide, Alistair and Elissa would have become hopelessly lost.

The walk was silent. Morrigan concentrated on navigating their way through the Wilds, and Alistair was silent, from grief and contemplation. For hours the three walked in this form, the silence becoming almost unbearable. Once consolation was the lack of conversation made argument impossible. From the withering looks Alistair and Morrigan had exchanged, it was clear they bore no love for each other.

Elissa was about to break the silence when the trees, which had grown gradually sparser, opened up to an ever-stretching landscape of rolling hills, off to their right a path constructed of stone, which Morrigan led them onto. Eventually, the path became a bridge, lifted from an ocean of grass, which gradually fell further beneath them. On the horizon, they could see a cluster of houses and buildings, the village that Morrigan was undoubtedly leading them to. As the town eventually came before them, a handsome yet quaint hamlet containing small houses made with grey slated roofs, all clustered about the Chantry, to the west was a windmill, centred in large farmholds, each sail a different colour. The whole village was nestled in high, rocky hills.

But an obstacle of over-turned caravans, slain merchants, cattle and the bandits that killed them, hovering over their prizes, as though proud of the throat-cutting and looting.

One stepped forward, whom had to be their leader, his men behind them in protective stances.

"More travellers to attend to, it seems. All visitors must pay a toll to enter Lothering. Ten silvers." He said with a wolfish grin."

"They're fools to get in our way. I say teach them a lesson," growled Morrigan.

"Now is that anyway to speak to someone," Tutted the bandit. "Ten silvers and you're free to move on."

"I am a Grey Warden, and I suggest you allow me and my companions to proceed," threatened Elissa.

"A Grey Warden?" One of his lackeys gasped. "Them one's killed the king!"

Alistair made an odd choking noise, and Elissa's vocal chords lost all usage.

"You got a point there," said the leader, the fear clear in his eyes. "We'll just leave you to your king-killing darkspawn-slaying ways. Do enjoy your say in Lothering."

The bandits stepped aside, and continued to watch them with wary eyes as they passed. _They think we've killed the king_, Elissa thought. _Loghain is going to turn the whole country against Wardens._

On one of the buildings marking the entrance into Lothering, Elissa spied a poster which was offering an award to whoever killed any surviving Grey Wardens. It was signed by Loghain, whom had named himself Regent. Elissa ripped the poster from the wall and stared at it with disgust. The fool had just damned all of Ferelden.

**I know I'm probably overloading your inbox with chapters, but I'm going to do a mad-upload because I love working on this fanfiction most of all and I want to make up for the past lack of chapters. So I hope you enjoy it, you gorgeous gentlemen and lovely ladies XD**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Break the Silence

"Ah, Lothering. Pretty as a painting." Alistair said, his silence broken by the charisma of the small village.

"Finally decided to rejoin us, have you?" Morrigan asked mockingly. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed too much trouble, I take it?"

"Is my being upset so hard to understand? Just what would you do if you're mother died?" Alistair exclaimed defensively.

Morrigan merely grinned wickedly. "Before or after I stopped laughing?"

"Right, very creepy. Forget I asked."

"You…have been quite Alistair," Elissa noted, her voice gently goading him to discuss his troubles.

"Yes I know. I was just thinking."

Morrigan snickered. "No wonder it took so long then."

"Oh, I get it. This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life," Alistair responded irritably.

"I can be friendly when I desire to. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."

"Anyway," Alistair said, turning from Morrigan to Elissa, "I thought we should talk about where we intend to go first."

Elissa chewed her lip. She hadn't though much of where to go after Lothering. The treaties seemed their best bet, but which to pursue first?

"I will formulate a plan later," she said.

"Fair enough, but we'll need to decide soon."

With that, the trio entered Lothering, their senses assaulted by desperation, by the crying of children, suspicious whispering of refugees, the sight of them. Haggard, frightened, gaunt and wrought with illness. The smell of human waste and rotten bodies invaded the air.

As they passed the make-shift refugee camp erected near the entrance to the village, close to the Chantry, a templar warned them there was no shelter to be found. Elissa heeded him none. She planned to be out of the village before dusk. According to Morrigan, to most like place to find food and supplies was the tavern, close to the farmholds in the west of Lothering. It was aptly named 'Dane's Refuge', as packed inside were more refugees than in the camp. Though it offered a warm hearth and a proper roof, it was still not far better than the camp; the green rug on the floor was almost grey with wear, frayed at the edges and covered with muddy foot-prints. The roof was constructed of grey slates, most of which were falling to the ground. The walls were cracked, grey, oppressive, and not near wide enough to house the amount of people that had squeezed in. Also, blending in with the refugees were shady patrons, garbed in stolen armor, sipping at watered-down ales most like purchased by stolen money.

Unfortunately, their presence alerted some of these patrons.

"I think we've been blessed, men!" Declared the man posing as leader, as he leered at Elissa.

"Didn't we ask all morning about a woman of her description?" asked another, peering intently at her. "And no one said they seen her?"

"Seems we were lied to."

"Now now, gentlemen. Surely there's no need for trouble," crooned a female voice, graced by a hint of an Orlesian accent. "These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

At the periphery of the group was a comely young woman with deep blue eyes and red hair cut to her chin, one lock of which was braided. She wore the yellow robes with the orange sunburst sigil of the Chantry, but a dagger was slung on the back, a contradiction in itself.

"Stay out of this, Sister," the mercenary growled. "You protect these traitors; you get the same treatment as them!"

"Why don't we talk about this before this situation comes out of hand," Elissa entreated, concerned by the possibility of innocents caught in the cross-fire.

"I doubt he would listen," said the Sister, "He blindly follows his master's orders."

"I am not the blind one," he thundered. "I served at Ostagar, where the Teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens treachery. I serve him gladly!"

"Loghain's men! This can't be good!" Alistair hissed.

"Take the Warden into custody. Kill the Sister and anyone else who gets in your way."

The situation escalated from what looked like a tavern brawl to a blood-bath. Maces, axes, blades and spells where unleashed in a terrifying storm. Elissa skittered away from the leader's broadsword. As she nimbly dodged she struck out, only dealing a light cut to his lower left arm. A blocked blow to her abdomen caused her arm bones to rattle painfully. The leader swung the sword over his head to unseam her from head to nave, but a dagger to the back from the Sister instantly downed him. Morrigan set another on fire, the acrid smell of charred flesh sickening. At that sight of their burned comrade, the men's courage failed. One man ran from the tavern, his breeches soiled. The other bent the knee, crying: "Yield!".

"Good! They've learnt their lessons and we can all stop fighting now," said the Sister with satisfaction.

"We don't want them reporting to Loghain" Alistair growled, visibly seething, hand upon sword hilt.

"No, let him go!" Cried the Sister with surprising concern. "You've already bested him; he's not worth your time."

"Deliver a message to Loghain," Elissa ordered coldly to the mercenary. "That the Grey Wardens know what truly occurred at Ostagar, and we will personally ensure he pay for his crimes against Ferelden. Let him hear of my name, and tremble to behold it: Elissa, daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland, and newly anointed Grey Warden."

The sell-sword gazed up with an expression of fear and awe. "I'll tell him, I'll tell him right away thank you!"

The rest scurried out of the tavern, and the excitement was quelled, the patrons returning to their food and drink.

"I'm sorry for intervening," said the Sister, "But I couldn't just sit by and not help."

"It was not your battle to fight, yet you staked your life in our defence. We are grateful," Elissa said sincerely. In truth, though, she did not fully trust her. How was it she had been there right place right time, and leapt to their defence? And how was it a Chantry Sister knew how to fight?

"I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Leliana, a lay Sister of the Chantry. Or, at least, I was."

"I am Elissa." She introduced herself, then Alistair and Morrigan.

"Those men said you were a Grey Warden, no? If that is the case, you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along."

Elissa brows raised in surprise. She had not thought anyone would have the desire to travel with a Warden, what with them currently being treated as criminals, hunted by authoritive figures and spurned by civilians for the damning allegations made against them. It was another reason for suspicion.

"Why is it you are so eager to help?" Elissa asked giving voice to her misgivings.

Leliana looked ground-ward, before looking at Elissa and saying: "The Maker wants me to go with you."

"Can you…elaborate?"

"I—I know that sounds absolutely insane, but I had a dream…a vision! What you do, what you are meant to do is the Maker's work. Please let me help!"

"More crazy?" Alistair muttered. "I thought we were full up."

What Leliana claimed was…far-fetched. To the extent that if she was a person that warranted suspicion, she would have made up a more believable tale to join the Wardens. Also, there was a great sincerity in her tone and eyes when she spoke, that she believed in this prophecy. Elissa knew, as soon as she spoke those words, she could be trusted. Perhaps their fate was intertwined. Perhaps the Maker had sent her on this path. Despite this, allowing her to join them would put her at great risk. They would be fighting darkspawn, which meant that she could contract the blight and die. Unlike Alistair and Elissa, Leliana and Morrigan did not have tainted blood, which meant they were not immune. But the darkspawn must be stopped. And for that, they needed allies. Her responsibility as both a Warden and denizen of Ferelden toppled her conscience and compassion. Grey Wardens took whatever measures necessary to stop the Blight.

"I will not turn aside help that is offered." Elissa smiled and extended her hand.

She heard Morrigan mutter: 'perhaps your skull was cracked worse than mother thought' as Leliana gasped in delight, her features lighting in joy as she grasped her hand between both of hers.

"Thank you! I will not let you down, I promise!"

Their next objective would be for their new companion to be properly armed and armoured. Chantry robes would offer little protection against weaponry, and she had only one dagger. Elissa had a spare to give her, but no extra armor. And there was little armor to be had in Lothering. Any merchant that sold it had only poor quality armor that was sold for outlandish prices. Leather armor was frayed, dry and cracked. Metal armor was covered in spots of rust and stained with other substances she could not identify. Elissa had salvaged only thirty sovereigns from home; she could nary afford to waste it on junk.

She promised to acquire some armor for her on the road during their travels, and led them north, onto the Imperial Highway which would lead them to the Bannorn. There, they would set camp and decide on their following destination.

As soon as they had acquired a map from Leliana, Morrigan had resigned as leader. Elissa took up the role. She had expected Alistair to, what with being the senior Warden and oldest member, but he had lapsed back into inconsolable silence. And once they exited the tavern, they all fell in rank behind Elissa, a silent nomination for her to be the group's unofficial leader. Her first responsibility as leader occurred as they exited the tavern. Opposite it was a cage, and in it sat a giant of a man. His stature far exceeded that of any other man, in build and height. He recited prayers rapidly in a tongue she was unfamiliar of. His skin had an ashen hue, his hair pure white and harshly braided onto his skull, pulled back into a pony tail. Elissa knew what he was: qunari. They were a religion, one which to Elissa was exceedingly difficult to grasp. But the term qunari could also be applied to a race of people, one which this man was. Each was born into a role, be it warrior, farmer or merchant and so forth. Those that accepted their role, as most did, saw it as a path to glory, success and certainty. Those that abandoned their role and the Qun, which is the name of their rigid philosophy, became Tal-Vashoth, outcasts that became hunted by those whom had embraced the Qun. That was the little Elissa knew of them, and she was unsure of how accurate that information was; it was just hearsay. What else she did know was that they were skilled warrior, what in Elissa was desperate need for. As she approached the cage, the qunari halted his meditations, and fixed upon them a gaze of slight irritation.

"I have nothing to say that would amuse you more than any other humans. Leave me be."

His voice was methodical and calm, but had a severity to it. He was annoyed by her presence, and could easily reach through the bars and rip her head from her shoulders if the desire seized him. Elissa nonetheless threw caution to the wind and inquired why he had been imprisoned.

"I'm in a cage, am I not? The Chantry placed me here." Judging by his tone, the question irked him further.

"The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family," Leliana spoke softly. "Even the children."

"I find myself in need of a skilled warrior," Elissa confided, though inwardly horrified by Leliana's allegation.

"Is that so? What for?"

"The Blight."

The giant's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "The Blight? You are a Grey Warden, then? I have heard of the orders legendary skill and power, but not all those tales are true, it seems."

Elissa ignore his insults and doubts of her as a Warden and asked: "Is there anyway the Revered Mother might release you?"

"You could tell her you require my aid against the Blight. That is as likely to bring my death as just waiting here."

Bidding him a brief farewell and receiving only silence in return, Elissa made for the Chantry, nestled in a nook created by the curving of the mountains in which lay Lothering. Outside, all looked tranquil, but inside terrified refuges had crammed themselves inside, sitting on pews praying frantically, kneeling in front of lay sisters and brothers welcoming their benediction with manic desperation in their eyes, whilst some lay on blankets and furs spread across the floor sleeping.

Alistair halted as they passed a man with shorn, dark hair, garbed in dark-green enamelled armor over a silver chainmail shirt, poring over a ledger.

"Ser Donnal?"

At the audible vociferation of his name, he turned to survey the speaker, and recognition and joy shone in his eyes.

"Alistair? It is you!"

She allowed Alistair privacy to speak with his old acquaintance, whilst she led Leliana and Morrigan to the Revered Mother. She dwelt in a room separated from the rest of the Chantry only by two bookcases filled with dusty old tomes, paper so delicate and aged it may crumble at contact. Her Reverence was a comely aged woman, her grey hair pulled back into two plaited buns at the nape of her thin neck. She regarded them with azure-flecked eyes, which beheld Leliana warmly.

"It is good to see you, my dear," she said in a kindly voice to her. "I'm surprised you are still in Lothering."

"It is good to see you too your Reverence." Leliana hailed her. "I would like to speak about the qunari you imprisoned."

A look of contempt replaced the warmth and she abandoned her seat to pace restlessly.

"Perhaps it may have been kinder to execute him, but I leave his fate to the Maker to decide. Why does he interest you?"

"We hoped we could convince you to release him."

"Then his next victims might count you and me as their murderers."

"Release him into my custody," Elissa suggested. "I'll ensure he hurts no one else."

"And what say you to this, Leliana?" The Revered Mother asked, "You know your friend better than I do."

Leliana briefly paused to weigh her words. "These are…unusual times, your Reverence. With us, the qunari may do some good. I'm sure of it, in fact."

With a sigh of defeat she relented, reluctantly handing them the key with just a touch of scorn. Religious folk can often be prickly, and would have protestations to their consorting with a murderer. Elissa was none too thrilled with the prospect herself, but as a Grey Warden this may be one of the few ugly choices she would make.

On their leave, Alistair rejoined them. He looked pale and worried, but he remained silent, and Elissa thought better than to not press for information. She feared pushing him to be more vocal may force him to retreat in his shell, as he had done after Ostagar. She disliked the thought of another concern to add weight to his already burdened mind, but as the surviving Wardens, they could expect no less. Elissa also had enough emotional turmoil. More was sure to come.

Alistair could scarcely believe the report Ser Donnal had given him. The Arl, sick, dying, no cure could be found to heal his ailment. Even healing magic had done little to slow its process. Alistair had though they could appeal to him for help; his endorsement of the Wardens would be invaluable. But he was deathly ill, and Alistair had a personal obligation as well as a political one to see him before he died, to find some way to cure him. He needed to speak to Elissa about this, and soon.

He tried to think of the best way to broach it to her as they walked through Lothering. At camp, away from prying ears would be best. If he told her about Arl Eamon, the topic of his birth would probably come up sooner or later, and it was best she heard it from him. The though still made his stomach lurch. He regretted having such a large breakfast.

Another stomach twisting thought was allowing a qunari who openly admitted to killing an entire family bare-handed into their group. He would not feel safe sleeping at the same camp with a murdering giant.

It was nerve-wracking enough watching Elissa come within arms-reach of him.

When she released him, he introduced himself.

"I am Sten of the Beresaad—the vanguard of the Qunari peoples. I will follow you into the Blight, and in doing so I shall find my atonement."

Sten joined their team, unarmed and unarmoured. Getting him a weapon wouldn't be too bad, from his stature a two-handed sword or axe. Getting him armor would be more challenging, given his stature. Currently he was dressed in a green tunic, pulled taut to the point of ripping across his chest, the sleeves barely reaching past his elbows, the orange breeches stretching just past the knee. The colour and size of them made him seem ridiculous, but Alistair knew better than to voice his amusement aloud. Like the villagers who found it less funny now that he was free.

These villagers parted as they passed, giving their party a wide birth. He could hardly blame them: a Chantry Sister, two Wardens (though hopefully none knew that specific fact), a witch and qunari. They looked suspicious, to put it mildly. Their gawks showed sheer amazement and awe, and watched them as they sauntered back onto the Imperial Highway to leave Lothering into the Bannorn. Elissa tensed slightly as they approached. Alistair could sense it too. Darkspawn.

They ran onto the Highway, Sten, Morrigan and Leliana trailing in their wake. Cowering before the darkspawn they had sensed were two dwarves. One had ginger beard and hair, clearly the elder. The other had blonde hair, no beard and large, spacey blue eyes and blonde hair. He could be a child, but it was difficult to tell with dwarves.

"For the love of mercy, help us!" cried the bearded one.

Alistair, Elissa and even Sten jumped into the fray. Leliana, having no armor, stayed distance using a bow and arrow, with supreme accuracy. Loosing an arrow, it hit one genlock square between its squat eyes.

Sten became even more terrifying when he seized a genlock and ripped it into, his huge hands becoming slick with blood, and Morrigan transformed into a spider, eliciting a scream of fear from Elissa, which Alistair thought was cute.

With her pincers, she tore through a shriek, stripping flesh from bone. Sensing darkspawn behind him, he turned quickly, parried and then turned it into a counter, cutting it from shoulder to stomach. Before instantly moving onto the next, swinging his blade and striking low. Elissa leapt with grace into the sky, her daggers piercing the skull of a shriek, which attempted to claw at her as it fell to the ground, before dying. Alistair knocked a hurlock of balance, which landed on Elissa's knives, burying into its' spine. Leliana then nocked three arrows at once, striking down the remaining three darkspawn with arrows to the neck, chest and eye.

The battle finished, the bodies of the darkspawn leaked their tainted blood onto the highway.

"Mighty timely arrival there my friends, I'm much obliged!" hailed the bearded dwarf. "My names Bodahn Feddic and this here is my son Sandal!" He clapped an arm around the blonde dwarf fondly. "Might I ask what brings you out there? Perhaps we're going the same way."

"I doubt you want to travel with a Grey Warden," Elissa said, surprising and horrifying Alistair with her forth-rightness about being a Warden. If only he could rewind time so that he could clamp a hand around her mouth and stop her from revealing that fact.

Bodahn's eyes widened with shock. "A Grey Warden? My, that does explain quite a lot. No offense, but I suspect there will be more excitement on your road than my boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune, though."

"Goodbye!" piped up Sandal, in a voice that suggested he was simple.

Bodahn and Sandal remained in Lothering, making an attempt to clean up the mess of the felled darkspawn, whilst Elissa led them away from the village, into the Bannorn. For hours they traversed the green plains undulating in the slight breeze, hill after hill, reaching as far as the horizon. When the sun began to set over the countryside, bathing the grass in an orange light, they stopped to set up camp for the night. It took them close to an hour to erect all the tents, kindle a fire and begun supper.

Morrigan set up her own camp, a good 25 feet away with a lean-to and her own fire, but she did take some of their food. Alistair had no qualms; he neither liked nor trusted her.

Sten sat outside of his tent, legs crossed and eyes shut as though in meditation, Leliana strumming quietly on a lute he never knew she owned. Alistair simply stared into the depths of the fires, watching the orange flames dance and leap. They looked too much like the beacon. It was a silly thing to think—all fires burned the same. It still brought all the images flooding back: them running through the tower, lighting the beacon, with no response. Loghain absconded the field, and the king and Duncan died…

He buried his face in his hands. It felt too much. He had lost all his friends and was stuck in a party with people he barely knew. And know Blight threatened the land, with only two Wardens left in the country to defend it, whom were expected to gather an army and defend this land. He felt like he might drown under his legion of burdens.

As he surveyed his team-mates, he felt slightly envious. Leliana sang softly to herself as she fiddled with her lute, Sten meditating, Morrigan, the socialite she was, sitting in her camp reading a book and Elissa was haggling with Bodahn, whom had recently joined their camp, thinking it the safest place to rest for the night. She was trying to obtain armor for Leliana and Sten. It seemed she got a good deal in the end, for she gave a small nod and smile of satisfaction and returned bearing armfuls of armor for both of them, and a weapon for Sten.

She was strong. She took part in a lost battle, tasting the bitter medicine of defeat and despair, her entire family slaughtered, except for her brother, still unaccounted for. Yet she was here, acting as their leader, and lending them her strength. Alistair felt guilty, but couldn't summon any willpower to help. He still needed time.

She gave sets of armor to Leliana and Sten, a flattering set of copper-coloured chainmail for Leliana, with matching boots and gauntlets. For Sten, she managed to get armor that fitted him, an absolute miracle, and also a greatsword. She spoke to Leliana for a while, but then drifted over to him, empathy in her silver eyes.

"Do you want to talk about Duncan?" She asked him gently.

The question took him by surprise. "You don't have to do that. I know you didn't know him as long as I did."

"He was a father figure to you. I understand."

Alistair sighed, looked away from her sympathetic eyes. "I should have handled it better, I shouldn't have fell apart, not with the Blight looming over us and…and everything. I'm sorry."

Her hand brushed his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. "There is nothing you need apologise for."

"I would like to have a proper funeral for him. Once all this is over. If we're still alive. I don't think he had any family to speak of."

"He had you."

"Yes, I supposed he did at that. I know this probably sounds stupid, but part of me felt like I abandoned him, in the battle." He wasn't sure why he was telling her all this. They hadn't known each other for very long, but he still felt so comfortable talking to her.

"That does not sound foolish at all. You wished you had the opportunity and means to protect him."

"I think he came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I'll go up there sometime, see about putting up something in his honour, I don't know."

"That's a wonderful idea. If my brother lives, he'll be the new Teyrn, and I'm sure he'll arrange it for you." He noticed the way her voice wavered at the mention of her brother.

"Did you want to talk about your…your family?" He asked her. It only seemed right he returned the favour.

His proposition took her by surprise. Her eyes flickered to his for a second before glancing away.

"No I-I'm sorry, but thank you, Alistair."

"And thank you, for listening to me whine," Alistair said with a smile.

She returned the smile. "If you ever have need of me, I'm here."

She left to sleep in her tent, and Alistair felt as though some of the weight had shifted from his shoulders.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Creatures of the Forest

Elissa's sleep was plagued by nightmares, visions of darkspawn and the archdemon attacking what might have otherwise been tranquil oblivion. She awoke before being dragged back into nightmares through the night. By break of day, she trembled all over, an action elicited by the cold morning dew as much as the terror of the images that had been inscribed in her mind, giving her silver eyes a hollow appearance.

She steepled the heels of her fingers over her eyes in an instinctive reaction to the tiredness that dogged her.

She donned her armor with quaking fingers then excited the tent, welcomed the day's first light by a crisp late-autumnal air and burnt orange sky shyly glowing with light, but all else in the camp remained still and silent, even the fire had reduced to smouldering embers. She fed the fire fuel to rekindle it, before pondering on what treaty to pursue. Orzammar was on the far side of Ferelden; it would be wise to obtain closer ones first. Rumours had been heard the Dalish were currently dwelling in the Brecilian Forest. They were free-roaming elves nefarious for illusively traversing the land to avoid prying outsiders. And the Forest was less than a day's journey from their location. She resolved to travel to the Brecilian Forest first, before they left. Hence she rolled and stored the map then roused the rest of the camp, much to their begrudgment. And after a simple breakfast of hard bread with butter and marmalade, which did nothing to quell the ache of hunger she felt, the packed away camp and made their move.

Bodahn, whom had too risen, inquired where they were headed.

"The Brecilian Forest," she replied, "In search of the Dalish elves. They owe the Wardens their allegiance."

Bodahn blanched, but said "I would be willing to allow you passage on my carriage. But I think me and my boy will stay on the perimeter of the camp. We dare not tread to close to the elves."

She gladly accepted his gracious offer, and they set off for the south-western region of Ferelden, cloaked by trees shedding their leaf-coats and choked by humid air, becoming thicker the further in that direction they travelled.

In less than seven hours they arrived, the damp, warm air and long journey instilling fatigue within them, and they shambled towards the camp entrance on foot, Bodahn having waited behind, true to his word. The Dalish camp was marked by blue lanterns hung on low, ashen trees, the light they emitted rendered wasteful by the shining sun, and the elves standing sentry: two male, one female. As they sensed their presence, bows were drawn and arrows nocked and aimed at the intruders. The woman stepped forward, bow carefully aimed at Elissa, her ice-blue eyes regarding her with undisguised suspicion.

"Shemlen," she growled. "Make your business here known."

"I am a Grey Warden," she answered, keeping her tone and stance natural to not give her reasons for doubt. "I have need to speak with your Keeper."

Keepers are the leaders of Dalish elves. Each Dalish camp has one Keeper, and a first to succeed them. It was keeper's roles to tap into the mysteries surrounding their immortal, progressive ancestors, to preserve and protect their ancient lore and ways in hopes they would regain their advanced culture stripped of them when they and humans warred centuries ago. That was the reason tension had existed between most elves and humans.

The woman lowered her bow slightly at her greeting, but the arrow remained nocked.

"And how do we know you are telling the truth?"

She remained steady, not allowing the woman's stubbornness to wear her patience. "I gain nothing to pretend to be a Grey Warden. Especially in this current climate, where they are an unwelcome existence."

She narrowed her eyes, contemplated for a second then sheathed her bow. The two males followed suite, reluctantly so.

"My name is Mithra. I will take you to our Keeper. Follow me, and keep your weapons out of your hands."

The Dalish camp was large, but did not surpass the Wardens at Ostagar, but excelled in terms of artistry and attractiveness. Tents of different sizes, shapes and designs were spread between trees and pillars. Also visible was their legendary land-ships. As the name suggested, they slightly resembled and acted as ships on lands, only with large wheels that allowed them to be pulled along by winds in the sails and halla, deer-like creatures herded by the elves.

Adults wandered between these chatting amongst themselves in their foreign tongue, and children running away from one another in sport, their bare-feet spattering against the muddy ground. Other practiced with bows and swords with another, and even a select few weaved spells. This camp was different to Ostagar. Though the Wardens were brothers and sisters in arms, the Dalish camp felt more maternal and caring. They were a _family_. Their kinship ran deeper than the Wardens'. The elves here were related by blood, heritage and marriage. She struggled to suppress her jealousy. Where was Elissa's family? Slaughtered mercilessly. She wrestled with the green beast that reared in her heart as Mithra led them through the camp that stirred at their arrival, eventually managing to silence it.

They finally reached the Keeper, whom was tall for an elf, standing several inches taller than Elissa. His head was completely shaved, his lack of hair allowing for a full view of the tattoos on his face, in the shape of a bird with its wings spread below his eyes. He was garbed in bright yellow robes, with blue sleeves. The robes and the stave on his back marked him as a mage.

"Who is this Mithra?" He asked in a tone of youth, yet still embellished with wisdom. "I have precious little time, and less patience to spend on any outsiders."

"This one claims to be a Grey Warden, and wanted to address the clan," she explained, bowing her head in respect. "I thought it best to leave the decision to you."

"That was wise of you. Ma serranas Mithra, you may return to your post."

"Ma nuvenin, Keeper," she responded, taking her leave.

"Greetings, travellers," he hailed them heartily. "I am Zathrian, Keeper and guardian of our lore and clan. Mithra tells me you are a Warden. What is your purpose here? Did you come to warn us of the Blight? I had already sensed its presence in the south."

"Partially true," Elissa replied hesitantly. "The Blight drove me here, yes, but to seek allies."

Zathrian looked uncomfortable. "You have come regarding the treaty we signed centuries ago. I'm afraid we won't be able to live up to the promise we made. This will require some…explanation. Follow me."

He led them behind the land-ship where he seemingly awaited their arrival, and tucked away into a corner were numerous elves, laying on blood-stained stretches, moaning and writhing in agony. Zathrian regarded them with anguish.

"Many dangers lurk in the Brecilian Forest," he spoke softly in a pained voice, "But we did not expect the werewolves to be lying in wait for us. They ambushed us, killing most of our hunters."

_Werewolves?_ Elissa questioned to herself, horrified. _Do such monsters even exist?_

"And those that survived?" Elissa asked, watching the hunters with wary eyes.

"Gravely injured, bitten by those savages. We will eventually be forced to slay our brethren to stop them from turning into beasts. The Blight is a great threat, but we are in no position to uphold the promises we made. I am truly sorry."

There were fifty, perhaps more elven hunters. She could not afford to waste such resources.

"And is there no way to cure your hunters?" She asked, near fearing the answer.

Zathrian looked at her with a glimmer of reserved hope.

"Perhaps…with the essence of the origin of the curse. The curse came from a wolf named Witherfang. If you bring me back his heart, I can banish the disease from the hunters, and then you shall have the aid you came here seeking."

"And there it is!" cried Morrigan. "An ultimatum, in the midst of a crisis! People will always take advantage in such a situation."

"I agree; we keep the darkspawn waiting with such a delay," said Sten.

"And what would you have me do?" Elissa asked, with more heat than intended "I cannot turn my back on these people. And we also need the allies. You were fully aware that we planned pursuing the treaties, so you can stop harking. If you'd rather waltz through the darkspawn horde to face off against the archdemon by yourself, be my guest. But I am not as foolhardy as that."

She was aware she sounded belligerent, but Morrigan conflicting with all her decisions could grate, and her council was not only useless but cruel. Alistair and Leliana kept their own council, but she thought they might esteem of her choice here. They believed in saving the people. The denizens of Ferelden needed them to act as protectors.

"I will venture into the forest and seek out Witherfang in return for your assistance against the Blight."

"I thank you Warden," Zathrian said with relief. "But beware. The Brecilian Forest has a history of carnage, making the Veil there thin. Spirits and more will roam in its' depths. And Warden, if you are any of your companions are bitten yourself, you will contract the curse and transform into a werewolf. Take care, I wish you luck."

Zathrian's ominous warnings sounding in her ears, Elissa led her companions to the path opposite their point of entry which funnelled into the Brecilian Forest, marked by a small tree, stripped by the cold conditions of its leaves. The forest itself was a multi-ethnicity site for trees: yew oak, fir and ashwood trees all thrived amongst each other here, their roots intertwining on their soft, green ground carpeted by nature.

Some of the woods were separated into miniature islets conjoined with bridges strung over a glistening blue lake fed by a large waterfall that amplified the beauty of the scene. All looked sublime, as if Mother Nature only selected the finest that nature had to offer, and sprinkled liberally on the land with gentle hands. However, lurking behind a mask of beauty was the dark history of the Brecilian Forest; if Zathrian and Leliana were to be believed, this place had a history written with red ink from the countless battles that had transpired here. This place was treacherous; Elissa had to remind herself to not allow it to lull her into complacency. Hence, she remained vigilant, her senses keen for the unwelcome arrival of werewolves or fade spirits. She forever felt the eyes of hidden strangers on them as they walked. Her hand became eager to hold a dagger for defence.

A growl was accompanied by a rustle of leaves from a hill to their right, yet the perpetrator alluded them.

"We're not alone," Alistair muttered.

Trees, bushes and hills were aroused to animation with the howling of wolves, and from them came shapes covered heavily in fur, rearing on hind-legs. They each stood a head taller than humans.

"Really not alone!" concluded Alistair, slightly panicked.

For the foes they faced were werewolves, their lycanthropic yellow eyes displaying nothing but the utmost malignity. Their snouts eagerly inhaled the scent of humans, slavering at the thought of catching prey between their strong jaws. One was set apart from the else, his arms bound in supple muscle, his soft fur a startling shade of ebony, whereas the others where various hues of brown or grey. The alpha.

"The watch-wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters," he boomed, his voice guttural and monstrous as his appearance. "The Dalish send a human of all things to repay us for our attack, to put us in our place. What bitter irony."

"You speak?" Elissa asked, astonished. "You have a reputation as mere savage beasts."

"We are beasts, but we no longer simple and mindless. Let that thought chill you spine," he sneered malevolently. "You speak to Swiftrunner. I lead my cursed brothers and sisters. Turn back now, go back to the Dalish and tell them that they have failed. Tell them that we will watch them suffer the same curse we have suffered for too long. We will watch them pay!"

"I would prefer we talk, as civilised beings. I bare you no ill-will," Elissa said earnestly. She would prefer a diplomatic and peaceful conclusion be reached.

Swiftrunner growled furiously at her remark. "Was it not Zathrian who sent you? He wishes only our destruction, never to talk!"

"You talk of Zathrian as if you are familiar with him," Elissa responded suspiciously.

He growled once more in bitter resentment for the invocation of his name. "We have never met, he and I. He would not survive the experience, I swear it."

"Why is it that you hold such bitter resentment for him?" Elissa asked, determined to uncover their connection.

"You know nothing, do you?" He snarled irately. "Nothing of us, and even less of those you serve. You are a fool, and we are done talking." He assumed a threatening pose, back arched forward, displaying his vicious claws at his sides. "Run from the forest. Run to the Dalish and tell them that they are doomed."

Elissa remained composed and replied "I cannot retreat, but I do not wish to battle with you."

"I do not wish to fight with you either, but we cannot trust you," he said firmly, but relaxed his stance. "Come, brothers and sister, let us retreat. The forest has eyes of its own, and it with deal with intruders as it always has."

Elissa watched their swift departure as they absconded on all fours like beasts, the words he had spake still resonating in her mind. Her conversation with Swiftrunner had formulated more questions. Such as, the connection between Zathrian and the wolves, and why he was held by them with such scorn. Elissa could only frown by the lack of answers, and proceed through the forest. Answers may yet lay ahead.

Leliana was enraptured by the Brecilian Forest. Even the countless battles that had been fought here only seemed to add to its beauty, in a melancholic way. It resembled hunting grounds she'd seen in Orlais, where nobles would hunt down creatures such as wyverns or dragons. But here they had werewolves…fascinating! Such creatures before had only existed in story and song to Leliana.

As they weaved through the trees, navigated steep paths and waded through across shallow rivers, Leliana felt as though she was in one of the tales she had been told as a young girl by Lady Cecily, of valiant knights and fair maidens. The chance Elissa had given her to help had opened up new adventures to her. It was a different pace than serving Marjolaine, and it pleased her.

Suddenly Elissa rose a hand, signalling them all to halt. The look she and Alistair exchanged looked like a private, silent conversation. Their leader motioned for them to remain, and melted into the shadows of the trees up on a gentle slope. Her movements, subtle, graceful and fluid reminded her of Marjolaine. But Elissa was a different person. She was wise, compassionate, and honest. She wouldn't betray Leliana as Marjolaine had.

Elissa resurfaced seconds later, looking grim.

"Ahead of our location, is a minor group of darkspawn," she said quietly. "Approximately three hurlocks, five genlocks, two shrieks and a single ogre among them."

"I see no reason for fear," Sten protested in a flat tone. "You are a Grey Warden, such fights are your duty."

"I agree. We waste enough time in this forest saving ingrate knife ears, cut a path through them," drawled Morrigan.

Morrigan was perilously beautiful, but the lack of warmth irked Leliana. She determined to find a softer person behind that exterior. One existed, surely.

"Very well. Leliana and Morrigan, maintain a distance and use ranged attacks. Sten and Alistair, you will both be in the direct melee, with me."

Orders dispensed, they scattered into positions. Leliana and Morrigan remained at the very edge of the slope, away from the fray, whilst Elissa, Alistair and Sten continued forth. The darkspawn soon sensed their presence, and withdrew terrifying weapons. The ogre roared, pummelled its chest than seized a near-by boulder and flung it at the three closest.

Standing on the outskirts of the battle, Leliana withdrew a bow, nocked an arrow. It struck one genlock in the forehead, downing it instantly. Alistair and Sten begun an attack on the ogre, but both knocked back by a meaty arm that swept them aside. Elissa became surrounded by two shrieks, four genlocks and three hurlocks. Leliana quickly nocked an arrow, and very carefully aimed at a shriek about to strike. It struck its arm, halting its attack but not killing it. The shriek attacked with its other arm, met Elissa's blades. She pushed it back, then stabbed it in the chest. Leliana drew Morrigan's attention, whom cast a freezing spell on the remaining shriek. This gave Elissa the opportunity to shatter it into pieces then escape from the circle of darkspawn.

Leliana loosed another arrow at a genlock, reducing their number to three. But lingering on the outside with a ranged weapon was proving ineffectual. She respected Elissa enough to follow her orders, but not to the extent that she may be killed. Leliana withdrew her daggers, running towards them with a vengeance.

"Leliana!" Elissa cried, her voice a mixture between anger and surprise.

With both daggers, Leliana ripped through the torso of a hurlock. Elissa forward-rolled to avoid a greatsword to the head. She slashed above to the hurlock looming over her, but was parried. She scrambled to her feet. A roar of finality behind them signalled the defeat of the ogre. Sten and Alistair removed their blades from the flesh of the bodies, then ran to help the girls.

An electricity spell from Morrigan filled the air with the putrid scent of seared darkspawn as the sparks leapt from one creature to the other. A song of flashing swords caught the stunned darkspawn unaware, killing them.

As the group caught their breath, Elissa spared Leliana a glance that was a mix of both anger and concern. It hurt and confused Leliana. She had sprung to her defence, why was she so scornful?

Elissa rubbed her beautiful silver eyes, looking weary. As the group proceeded, she spoke softly to Leliana.

"Your aid is not unappreciated, but for your own safety, I ask you, please, do not contravene my orders."

"But…why? I-I defended you," Leliana said, genuinely hurt.

"Darkspawn blood is a poison," she explained. "If it enters a person's blood flow, be it by open wound or mouth, they will contract the taint, and die. Grey Wardens are in no danger of the infection, for reasons I am not at liberty to divulge. But you are susceptible."

Leliana paused at these words, before resuming. "What about Sten? You allow him to fight."

Elissa's pouty lips twitched. "It troubles me that I place him in such danger, but he has no ranged attacks, being a warrior, not a mage or rogue."

Leliana could only nod. Her fellow rogue looked genuinely concerned, so the bard dropped the subject. Elissa had their best interests at heart.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Emancipation

Fierce wind swirled and churned as a solid barrier of squall. Though the barrier was dense, it presented tantalising glimpses of the ruins that lay beyond in mockery. Elissa dare not gamble to challenge to forge through the grey ribbons, even though she must: the ruins were surely the werewolves' warren. However, she was unsure of whence it came, or how to remove it, hence she was enforced to admit defeat and return.

"'Tis a magical barrier," Morrigan interjected calmly as she examined it.

"Have you the ability to remove it?" Elissa asked, lacking faith.

"I do not," was her expected reply. "'Tis a crafty spell. Only the one that cast it can remove it."

"Oh, how excellent," Elissa said sarcastically. "How are we to find the caster, furthermore convince them to dispel it?! As it was erected to keep something on one side of it."

"There are no words of any tongue to get me to remove it, no, no, no!" An enigmatic voice behind the squawked, startling them all.

The voice belonged to a man with delirium exhibited in the wild tangle of his whitened beard and hair, wide eyes shot with blood and stance. His back stooped low, burdened under an invisible weight of his delirious thoughts.

"You erected this?" She asked carefully. The maddened are oft dangerous.

"I did. **They** kept coming. It keeps them out, it does!"

"Them? The werewolves?" she inquired for clarity.

"No!" he erupted indignantly. "You know very well who they are. You are a spy for them, I know, you can't trick me, no, no, no!"

Elissa looked to her companions for aid, but they did not endeavour to stray from their roles as spectators, observing the hermit with amusement or astonishment,

All except Morrigan, who warned her. "I'd be careful where I you, Warden. Mad as he is, he has magic, which makes him all the more dangerous."

"I'm not one of them," Elissa assuaged his fears. "I seek only to pass through and end the curse inflicted on the elves."

The old mage giggled hysterically. "How about we play a game first?"

"A-a game?" Elissa quoted apprehensively.

"Ask a question and you'll get a question. But give an answer and you'll receive the same. Oh, I do so love to trade!"

"You wish to ask me a question?"

"May I? Oh yes, I think I will. Hmm, what should I ask first?" he mused aloud. "Oh, yes! What is your name?"

"Elissa," she responded, unhesitant.

"So you say. But you're too tricky, I'm onto you! **They **sent you, didn't they, told you to pretend to be an innocent stranger with a head full of fluff." He paused, swatted at imaginary insects about his head. "But it is your turn to ask. Ask away, I dare you."

" How can I pass through the barrier you erected?" Elissa pursued.

"The tree."

"Pardon?" she asked, confused.

"To the west, there is a tree that talks. Kill it."

"A…talking tree?" she reiterated in incredulity.

"That is your key. Kill him, take a branch—they is magical, you see. With it, you can pass."

Ere she could arrest a more detailed explanation, he hobbled away without pause, as rapid as his posture would allow.

"So what is our next move?" Sten asked, after a brief ensuing silence.

"We seek out this tree," Elissa replied.

Alistair laughed. "You're not serious, are you?" Elissa responded with affirmative glance. "You are? You're serious? Take the word of this…madman?"

"None other leads or options are in our possession. It may be falsehood, or an apparition of his crazed imagination, but we will pursue it nonetheless."

Thus they returned to the north-west, the first section of the forest from whence they came in accordance to the hermit's ultimatum. They examined the trees for any signs of personification, but it was in vain. One hour waxed and waned before Elissa began to doubt the whether this tree existed, that it may be the figment created by a sickly brain.

The birth of her misgiving was soon retracted when her hand grazing across a tree trunk breathed life into it. Braches began to move, unfolding the largest two that resembled human limbs perverted by nature. Elissa's companions that had disseminated in their pursuit returned to gaze upon the wondrous spectacle unfurling afore their eyes, and it like reciprocated their stare with eyes as red as the waking sun, burning with angry fever. Elissa's hands instinctively reached for the pommel of her daggers in preparation for an attack, but it did not assault them. Instead it spoke.

"What manner of beast be thee, that comes before the Elder Tree?" Its voice was rich with bass and wisdom, betraying its threatening appearance.

"I am human," Elissa replied, disbelief nullifying thought processes.

"Ah, I remember thy kind. So brief of life, and all but blind to the peril you cause, the lives you take, such chaos is sown, within thy wake," intoned the Elder Tree with solemnity. "Allow me a moment to welcome thee, I am called the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree."

"It rhymes?" Morrigan asked, bemused. "'Tis a rhyming tree! I can only imagine what manner of spirit is involved here."

"Unless thou thinks it far too soon, might I ask of thee a boon?" inquired he, remaining ignorant to Morrigan's remark. "I have but one desire, to solve a matter very dire. As I slept one early morn, a thief did come and steal an acorn. All I have is my being, my seed, without it, I am alone indeed. I cannot go and seek it out, yet I shall die if left without. In the east, thou will find this man, I beg thee, do what thou can."

The conversation was closed as the Elder Tree wrapped its elongated branches to guard its humanised features, and became still with departure of life. This left Elissa with no option but to confront the hermit, and hope to retrieve the acorn with minimal impediments. There had been enough complications thus far, Elissa wished for no more.

The hermit was awaiting them by the barrier, looking addled and angry.

"It's not dead. Not dead! I can still feel its presence—alive, alive!" He yelled, before looking aft then howling as a rabid dog would.

"Afore, you mentioned trading," Elissa interrupted his fit calmly.

He regarded her through his fingers.

"You illegally came into possession of an item I desire to return to its owner," Elissa recommenced. "I am willing to trade for it."

"I would trade," he replied, straightening his poise, "Provided you have something interesting to give in return."

"I will trade you this book for an acorn," Elissa compromised, hiding a grimace of despair. Works of literary had always been revered as precious artefacts to her. She had spent whole days in her grandfather's extensive collection, immersed in tales of epic battles with bold knights and corrupt villains, as well as forever expanding her knowledge of the world around her with volumes of geography, history, arithmetic, grammar and science. It was painful to have to surrender a precious manuscript to the old hermit.

"A book? What sort of book?" He asked, still with reservations.

"A book on elvish history," she replied, admiring the glossy olive-green leather one final time.

"Elvish history, eh? That should make for good reading by the moonlight. Or it'll be better than using leaves. Give me that!" He arrested the tome from her hands greedily, and then unceremoniously tossed the acorn at her feet. She stooped and grabbed it from the ground, praying that all communication with the hermit was completed.

"My joy soars to new heights indeed!" Exclaimed the Elder Tree, his acorn having been presented to him. "I am reunited with my seed. This cannot pass without reward; I shall give what little I can afford. Keep this branch of mine with thee, and pass throughout the forest free. I wish thee well, my mortal friend, thou brought my sadness to an end. May sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winter's kind and thy roots ne strong."

Stillness possessed the Elder Tree once more, becoming an inanimate object. Elissa's efforts had been awarded with a branch taken from the Grand Oak itself that was imbued with magic. But the endeavours had impregnated night unto their day, the sky weeping last moments of reddened sunlight. The chances of passing through the barrier with what little time remained of day were slim.

"It would be wise to set camp," Elissa said, "Night dawns. Let us search for a suitable place."

They dispersed thinly across the land, not wandering too thither lest they lose themselves amongst the forest in the diminishing light. A site riddled with roots that crawled and grasped to the floor would not do; respite would be impossible, but be they too exposed werewolves or spirits may come and murder whilst they slept. Elissa did spy a nook, shaded by two tall trees, when Alistair unexpectedly seized her arm.

"Elissa, I think you should see this," he said, rather happily.

"Yes?" She prompted an explanation as she was partially hauled by Alistair to whatever had captivated his interest.

"Not far behind that, er, 'talking tree' there's a camp set up. Could belong to someone else, I don't know, but I didn't see anyone, haven't all day."

Their companions fell in rank astern them, where there was indeed a camp, awaiting weary souls to replenish themselves. A river cascaded effortlessly contiguous to it, the gentle sound of the water lapping benevolently at the bank soothing her, turning her alertness into relaxation, droplet by droplet.

The camp was perfection, five tents clustered around a smouldering fire with a plentiful supply of kindling prepared next to it. Upon examination, the tents appeared thoroughly warm, dry and comfortable. Each held inside a soft bedroll, lined with fur to offer a restful night. She felt herself become rapt as she glanced around at these illustrious surroundings, the tent, bedroll, and fire…the recollection of when she had lest snatched repose was evasive. An unnatural allure caressed all her senses with such audaciousness Elissa would have become vigilant once more, but fatigue wrestled over all awareness and warnings. She only wished to rest for some hours to restore her strength as she deserved, for now she would postpone her quest…

The inviting sensation of war fur against her skin had vanished. A poor substitute of cold, hard ground acted as replacement. And a tight sensation binding her wrists, sharp burns biting her flesh and a pain that threatened to crack asunder her skull. This intensified as she pried upon her dry lids that chaffed against her swollen eyes. Unprepared for such brilliant light, her eyes hurt and sight distorted.

A ruin bid her good morning, gargantuan roots and branches creating fissures in the masonry as they invaded the man-made structure. Two cradled in their arms a small body of water, over which towered an enormous sentinel tree, through the canopy of which sunlight was filtered. Afore this was a multitude of werewolves, one of which she recognised to be Swiftrunner. Standing in the centre of the monstrous guardians was a woman that looked to be human only warped by an unknown impairment. Her form was naked, and her arms ended with branch-like fingers, as did her legs. They also embraced her around her womanhood and breasts. Her head was crowned by tresses of smooth, black hair, of which her eyes were the same hue. The woman was beautiful, yet looked perilous. A hybrid between human and tree.

"I bid you welcome, mortal," spoke she, in a voice that was calm and distant. "I am the Lady of the Forest. I had Swiftrunner bring you here, so we may speak."

"You deem it necessary to use violence and bring me against my will?" Elissa asked angrily.

She looked slightly bemused. "Would you have come willingly to a lair of werewolves, had I asked? I apologize for your treatment, and I realise our actions may have roused distrust. But there are thing that you must know. Things Zathrian has not told you."

Elissa had taken the liberty of allowing her eyes to drink in her surroundings, conveying the revelation she was isolated.

"Where are my friends?" She demanded, panic rising.

"They are safe, I assure you. You were brought alone, no harm has come to them. Before you can return and see them, however, you will hear how this curse came to be."

The tale left her in a stupor, the horrors and tribulations rendering her speechless. The truth was laid bare: Zathrian had withheld the fact that the curse had originated it from him. In revenge for the murder of his son, and the abuse of his daughter that led to her suicide, Zathrian had bound a tribe of humans and their lineage with a spell of lycanthropy, transforming them into twisted creatures. Though the crimes committed against his children were abhorrent, the perpetrators were dead, having ceased to live centuries ago. Zathrian's refusal to break the curse made him no better than the humans who maltreated his children.

"Do you see now, human? The extent of our plight? Bring Zathrian here, I beg you!" Pleaded the Lady, seizing her uncertain silence to entreat her.

"Would he agree to come?" Elissa asked. Zathrian had by now proved his pusillanimity.

"If he refuses, tell him that I will ensure Witherfang is never found, and he will never cure his people. I have the power to do that. Outside of this chamber is a path leading out of the ruins. The door is open for you," she said, gesturing to the exit.

"My friends?"

"Last I know, still at the camp."

"Then I will speak to Zathrian on your behalf, though I cannot promise success," she said, taking her leave.

She maintained keen senses, relying on her hearing to ensure no sneak attacks. She was still uncertain of how much trust she could place into those whom had lived under oppression of a curse, with such hatred for he whom had cursed them. Retaining such venomous emotions for such a long time would change a person. Though if the Lady's words were true, Zathrian was worthy of less trust.

The door fed into a large room that smacked with such similar appearance as the room from which she emerged, from the irregularly sized roots that broke through the ceiling and walls, becoming an extension on the architecture. A single ray of light illuminated a large circle of white stone in the centre of the room, on which stood Zathrian, and to her great delight, her companions.

At the intelligence of her presence, their hushed conversation silenced completely, and they all congregated to her position. Relief was palpable in the countenances of Leliana and Alistair, but Morrigan and Sten looked unmoved. Elissa however had come to tolerate their indifference.

Zathrian too looked glad but not due to personal concern for her well-being. Most like he conjectured her appearance as an announcement of her reclamation of Witherfangs' heart.

"You have returned! Do you have Witherfangs' heart?" Zathrian pursued eagerly, in collaboration with her hypothesis.

"I wold speak with you Zathrian," Elissa replied, straining to keep the ire from her voice.

"Yes, yes, there will be time for that later. Have you acquired the heart?" He asked impatiently.

"No."

A glimmer of irritation broke through the guise of benevolence he strove to uphold. "Then may I ask why you are leaving the ruin?"

"I have been sent by the Lady of the Forest. She wishes to converse with you."

Zathrian smirked at her. "Does she have you that enthralled Warden? The Lady actually is Witherfang."

"I thought as much," she replied. "But the werewolves had regained their minds. I suggest you allow them the opportunity to communicate."

"How can I believe the words of one under their thumb?" He snarled. "You claim the werewolves have regained their mind, but I don't believe it. I agree only if you promise to protect me, should they attack."

Elissa's patience with the deceitful old elf was becoming sparse, but she acquiesced. The Blight had compelled her to come here; she had little care for personal grudges and quarrels.

"Then let us see what she has to say. It has been a while."

Zathrian's presence disturbed the tranquillity of the lair she had left. It roused the werewolves' anger, made them become acutely cognizant of the curse they had borne over the years. They slashed the claws through the air in desire to tear them through the elf's flesh. The Lady was the sole occupant that looked on impassively, her black eyes fixated solely on Zathrian.

"Hello, spirit," Zathrian greeted her reticently.

Swiftrunner moved in front of the Lady to look at Zathrian 'vis-a-vis' as speedily as his name alluded.

"She is the Lady of the Forest! You will address her properly!"

"You've taken a name, spirit? And given names to these…beasts that follow you?"

"'Twas they who gave me a name, Zathrian. And the name's they take are their own," she explained amiably, an utter contrast to Zathrian's enraged manner of speech. "They follow me because I help them find their true selves."

"Their 'true selves' are no different than their ancestors: worthless dogs, wild savages."

"It is as I warned you, my lady. He is not here to talk," Swiftrunner growled, vociferating his misgivings.

"No, I am here to talk, though I see little use in it. We both know how this will end. Your nature compels it, as does mine."

"It doesn't have to be that way, Zathrian. Surely there is room in your heart for compassion. Surely your retribution is spent," said the Lady, her voice a soft plea.

"My retribution is eternal. As is my pain."

"Are you sure your pain is the only reason you won't end the curse? Have you told the mortal how it was created?" She asked, amicableness substituted with cunning.

"The curse originated from Witherfang, I am told. Zathrian disclosed to me that you are Witherfang. And you yourself told me of the story of the abuse of his children." Elissa said.

"But there is a part I and Zathrian neglected to tell you. The spell that binded me to the body of a wolf was so powerful that it required Zathrian's blood, tying him as well to the curse. So long as it exists, he does."

"No, that's not how it is!" Cried Zathrian.

"His demise would end the curse?" Elissa asked hesitantly.

"No," the Lady responded. "But his death does play a part in its end."

"Then we kill him!" Swiftrunner growled.

"For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still. What would killing me accomplish? Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will never do it!"

"Hasn't this gone on for long enough, Zathrian?" Asked Leliana, moved by the wolves plight.

"No, I will never break the curse!" Zathrian yelled. "Do what you came to do Warden, or get out of my way!"

Elissa felt disgusted by the lack of compassion and the abundance of hypocrisy he demonstrated. He claimed the werewolves thirsted and desired for naught but his blood, yet he entered the lair, only to spill blood himself.

"You do not have my support in this endeavour," she declared.

"Yes, we stand for what is right, no matter the cost," Alistair agreed ardently.

"Then you shall die with them!"

From his raised hands silver light was emitted, which floated into the tall trees scattered about the room. The touch of magic animated them. Branches were unfurled as limbs, roots were ripped from the floor as they closed the distance between them and the humans and wolves that stood opposing them. The Lady transformed herself, into a wolf with a brilliant white coat and red eyes.

Spirits summoned from the Fade appeared, hulking purple figures that floated inches from the floor, their disfigured faces protruding from shoulders, their large, glowing eyes the most prominent feature of all.

Elissa bade Morrigan to use fire spells on the trees-the quickest way to eliminate them, and left her other companions to fight as they deemed fit.

Jets of flame were emitted from the hands of Morrigan consumed the white hue of the tree, quickly dying it black.

Elissa charged at Zathrian, but was halted by a purple arm struck her in the face, knocking her off balance. The connection her head made with the stone below was extremely painful, reducing her vision to a swirl of black dots. Through the ruin of her vision, she perceived a purple figure approaching her. She rolled, evading the creature's fists, which left a fissure in the hard stone.

She steered herself against the thunderous pain in her skull, and smacked her elbow into the eye of the monster, which extracted from its non-existent mouth a screech of pain. It clamped together its fists in preparation for a mighty attack, but before it could execute it, she slid beneath the creature on her knees, her poised daggers cut it from head to tail, drawing a fountain of black blood from the wounds.

As the beast returned from the void whence it came, Elissa primed herself for the arrival of more of the creatures. But they adapted their fighting techniques, having learnt from the others mistake. One grabbed her arms, arresting them at the small of her back and preventing her from moving. She struggled as the other creature approached.

She brought her leg high, her foot connecting firmly with its' face, then elbowing it harshly in the torso. She nimbly strafed to the right, causing its' comrade to bury its hand into the others' heart, killing it with a blitz of black sludge. She drove her daggers into the back of the other as it lamented its murder of the incorrect target. They both vanished in similar fashion to the first.

One final crash met with silence signalled the fall of the final tree, and Alistair stabbed the final purple Fade spirit through its' torso.

Elissa marched to Zathrian, dodging his spells made inaccurate by the trembling of his hands instigated by the sight of all his champions dying. She pressed one dagger to his throat. He ceased all magical activity in response.

"No! No more, I cannot best you!" He uttered breathlessly.

Elissa accepted his yield, sheathed her dagger, but Swiftrunner still thirsted for vengeance.

"I say we kill him!"

"No, don't kill him!" Chorused Leliana. "Lady, please, stop him!"

"No, Swiftrunner!" The Lady thrust out an arm to prevent him executing his threat. "If there is no room in our heart for mercy, how can we expect there to be room in his?"

"I—I am too old to know mercy," Zathrian spake betwixt wheezes. "I cannot do what you ask."

Elissa was sceptical, and fast becoming livid to the point that she was tempted to kill him herself. "Is that the truth, Zathrian, or is it your way of endeavouring to preserve your life?"

"Perhaps…perhaps I have lived too long."

"Then you'll do it? You'll break the curse?" Her voice before so imprisoned with calmness was now liberated with audible hope.

"What of you, spirit? You are tied to this curse as I am. Do you not fear your end?" He asked, his voice drained of all spite, as though shameful for his previous conduct.

"You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness, where none existed before. I have felt pain and joy, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. But now I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you maker, put an end to me. We beg you, show mercy."

Her entreatment was moving enough to fill Elissa's eyes with unbidden tears, and to motivate Zathrian to give her the peace she wished for.

"Then…let us put an end to this."

He advanced toward the Lady, and the werewolves surrounded the two. Their grizzled features were softened by the release they were to be gifted presently. From his staff shone a gentle light that swathed him, then he simply vanished. Swiftrunner and the other wolves looked to the Lady, whom was being cloaked by the same light. He beautiful form slowly faded as the light intensified. It filled the chamber, and when it dwindled to nothing, the sight of numerous men and women met their eyes. They stared down at the human figures in disbelief, laughing, weeping with joy and embracing one another.

The human who stood where Swiftrunner had original had tendrils of shaggy brown hair, his eyes still lycanthropic yellow, stubble growing into a tuft of a beard.

"I don't believe it," he addressed Elissa in surprisingly eloquent and genteel tones. "She's gone and we are…we are free. It is over!"

Elissa sympathised with their joy, smiling widely. "What will you do now?"

"Rejoin the human society, see what's out there. It will be quite interesting. Thank you, we will never forget you."

Then, all them men and women tore away with haste to experience their newly bestowed freedom, but Elissa's work was not complete. The matter of gaining allies was still at hand. Hence she left the ruins, relying on her friends to lead the way back to the Dalish camp. Though she did not relish informing them of the passing of their Keeper, her heart still beat with merry gaiety. The werewolves had been saved, liberated from the curse that had contorted them, stopped them from living. And hopefully, one of the treaties would be absolved.

**Thank you to those that have followed/favourited, and an especially big thank you to those that have reviewed. Feedback is very much appreciated, I love hearing your thoughts on my work! Next chapters will be up in the next couple of days. Enjoy the rest of your day :)**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Honesty

Loghain waited impatiently whilst the mercenary stood on ceremony. He had fled back on the failure of elimination the remaining Wardens. One of them, a woman no less, had sent him back with a message. His lips twitched with irritation as he relayed vocal memorandum to him. A woman-child of twenty had the gall to threaten him, the Cousland girl. He knew her family well, and had thought her dead after Highever had been taken by Howe. Loghain would have to finish what the fool had begun.

What concerned him more, though, was the report of a second Warden that had survived. There was another Warden with Cousland during the war at Ostagar. And if it was indeed that Warden that had survived…

"What did he look like?" he demanded of the fool.

He started, before stammering "A—a young man must have been around the same age as the girl. Tall, blonde hair, brown eyes, real strong like. He kind of looked like ol' King Cailan, he did. Ki—kind of funny right?"

Loghain gritted his teeth. Alistair. It was him

"You were trounced by a rookie Warden-a woman, no less," Loghain growled, his hands gripping the arm of his throne. "Where do you find the amusement in such as thorough, embarrassing defeat?"

"W-well, I-I…" he stuttered. Maker, he was a bigger idiot than he looked.

"Leave," he ordered. It took all his restraint not to demand his head mounted on a pike outside of the palace. He paced anxiously once he was alone.

If Alistair yet lived, his claim to the throne was in jeopardy.

Alistair trailed after Elissa, exhaustion clawing at his tired, irritated eyes. He was eager to be away from all the elves that looked at them like they had just murdered their dog. Hatred rolled from their glares like mist from a mountain. To think, they had helped these people. Sort of. The elves had been cured, now the curse no longer existed, but they had lost them their Keeper.

They still had to get the treaty fulfilled somehow. But another of the elves, Lanaya, had become the new Keeper.

"I felt it," she said, "When he departed. I think he was ready to go."

"Had you any notion to his active involvement with the curse?" Elissa asked with a bite to her tone.

Lanaya sighed, looking morose. "I suspected…but Zathrian did not like to talk about that. Nonetheless the curse is over, and no one else will be subjected to it. It will be difficult to fill Zathrian's shoes. He was our Keeper for many centuries, and will be sorely missed. But I am Keeper now. Let me say it officially then: I hereby swear to uphold the terms of the ancient contract our people formed with the Grey Wardens. Call, and we shall come with great speed and purpose, and we shall strike at your foes. This I swear."

"Thank you, Lanaya," Elissa said, her usual softness returned.

"It has been a long time since the Dalish has been to war. But in the end, I trust that we shall make a difference to you."

They returned immediately to where Bodahn had hung back by nightfall, and after the tents had been raised and a simple supper of lamb and pea stew had been eaten, he drew first watch with Elissa, to tell her. But he couldn't form the words. No matter what way he said it, she'd probably rebuke him and call him an idiot, or stretch herself thin trying to protect him. Neither one of those options seemed very appealing.

He gave her some oatcakes he had stashed away, as he knew she would still be hungry because of the monstrous appetites all Grey Wardens seemed to suffer from. She seemed very confused about this new-found hunger.** Another** thing Alistair would need to talk with her about. But one at a time, he decided.

"I know someone else we can petition aid from," he said quickly.

"Do share," she replied, grinning, when he didn't continue.

"I told you that I was raised by the Chantry, right, and that's where I learned my skills as a templar?"

"I recall such information, yes."

"Well…that's only partly true," He admitted with difficulty.

She fixed her curious gaze on him, and he found himself unable to speak when those silver eyes flecked with azure bore into his. _Maker spit it out, fool!_ He snapped at himself.

"Before I was sent to the Chantry, Arl Eamon raised me. The reason he did that was…because…because King Maric was my father. Which made King Cailan my half-brother, I suppose."

Elissa's eyes were wide with surprise. She shook her head to regain composure.

"You think only to inform me thus now?" she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

_Crap!_ "I—I would have told you sooner, but it never really meant anything. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule, so they kept me a secret. And after the fighting, when I should have told you…I don't know. How do you just tell someone that?"

That's understandable," she said, her features softening.

"I should have told you anyway. I guess part of me liked you not knowing," he said, staring down at his hands.

"Why?" she asked, cocking her head quizzically,

"Because people treat me differently," he responded with bitter remembrance. "I become the bastard prince to them instead of just Alistair. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or the coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for not telling you. I guess I was just hoping you'd like me for who I am. It was a stupid thing to do." _And __**that**__ was a stupid to say, Alistair._

"I…I do enjoy you, Alistair. And it has nought to do with your lineage."

"Well, you're probably the only one," Alistair began, before realising he was whining again. "Arl Eamon is a good man, and well-respected at the Landsmeet. Also, he wasn't at Ostagar, so he still has all his troops. We may even want to go to him next. But I heard a troubling rumour in Lothering that he was struck by a malady that magic nor medicine can heal. I have an obligation to meet him, not just as a Grey Warden. I know how selfish that sounds…"

"Not at all. And it is still a lead worth pursuing, so I thank you for trusting me with this," she replied kindly. But every time he talked to her he felt like he'd met a solid wall of forced courtesy. Perhaps she was still grieving. Or perhaps it was as he feared, and now he was a royal bastard to her instead of just a Grey Warden.

Leliana then came and relived her. Elissa shot one meaningful but unreadable look before she retired.

When daybreak had come, and everyone had awoken, Elissa announced her intention to go to Redcliffe, a notion that sent Alistair's stomach stirring, even though he had been the one that suggested it. He dreaded the thought of seeing Arl Eamon and Arlessa Isolde even more. She said he could prove a valuable alley, but didn't reveal Alistair's involvement, and for that he was grateful.

Bodahn offered them passage on his carriage, since Redcliffe had promising business opportunities. So they arrived in good time, the sun still at its' peak in the sky.

It looked just the same as he remembered, the village nestled at the foot of the red-brown mountains, the castle on the far side of the lake, connected to the mountain by a long path sectioned off by manned gates. A windmill stood sentinel on the lip of the cliff, overlooking the grey lake devoid of all life. From their vantage, the entire town of Redcliffe seemed desolate. The only life-form they saw was a plain man with a gaunt face and soiled green tunic and breeches nervously clutching at a make-shift longbow.

"W—who are you?" He asked them anxiously as they approached, his eyes nervously sliding over each of them, looking particularly fearful of their weapons.

"Grey Wardens, come to seek the alliance of Arl Eamon," Elissa heralded him in a voice kept neutral.

"You've come to see Arl Eamon?" he repeated. "Then… you don't know? Has nobody out there heard?!"

"We know of Arl Eamon's illness, if that is what you're referring to," Elissa replied but she looked doubtful.

"He could be dead for all we know!" the man cried in distress. "No one's heard from the castle in days a—and every night evil…things attack from the castle!"

"Hold on, what is this evil that's attacking you?" Alistair asked urgently.

"I—I don't rightly know, I'm sorry! I should take you to Bann Teagan; he's all that's holding us together."

Alistair did a double-take at the mention of the name, familiar yet nearly forgotten. The last time he had seen him was when he was just a little boy over a decade ago.

"Bann Teagan?" He asked in disbelief. "Arl Eamon's brother is here?"

"Yes, I'll take you to him."

He began leading them down the sloping cliffs of red into the city. There were no civilians from what they could see; outside of a building that looked like the village Chantry archers fired at targets and militiaman standing in huddles, talking in low, quiet voices. They were led straight into the Chantry, the militiaman scarce looking up at the outsiders as they passed.

The Chantry had been converted into a refugee camp. The civilians lined the walls with bedrolls, blankets and cooking fires. It was mainly women and children, but there were men too young or too old to fight as well. Desperation and fear was what occupied their eyes. They almost seemed to plea to them for help as they passed.

There he was, at the head of the Chantry, dismissing a man he had just been talking to. Bann Teagan still had the same pale copper hair with a lock braided, and still had the same green eyes, his face was more lined and weary than what he remembered.

"It's Tomas, yes?" he asked their escort. "Who are these people with you? They are obviously aren't simple travellers."

"No, Bann Teagan. They claimed to be Grey Wardens and wanted to see Arl Eamon. I thought I'd best bring them to you."

"Thank you Tomas," Bann Teagan said kindly. "Greetings travellers, I am Bann Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere and brother to the Arl."

"I remember you, Bann Teagan. Though the last time we met I was a lot younger… and covered in mud," Alistair recollected fondly with a smile.

"Covered in mud?" he repeated, looking confused, but it quickly changed to recognition. "Alistair, is that you? You're alive, this is wonderful news!"

"Still alive, yes," Alistair sighed, "But I'm as shocked about it as you are."

"Indeed. Loghain would have us believed that all Grey Wardens died alongside my nephew, King Cailan. Amongst other things."

"Not all of us are dead," Elissa interjected. "Hope yet breathes as we do."

"So you are a Grey Warden as well? Is it possible we've met? You seem very familiar."

Elissa contemplated silently before answering. "We have never had the pleasure of meeting personally, though you may be familiar with my father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland."

Recognition lit up his emerald-coloured eyes. "Ah, yes! That's it exactly! I heard about what happened at your home." his features softened with sympathy. "I offer you my deepest condolences, my lady."

"I thank you for your consideration, but I would speak of what ails this town—and its' Arl," Elissa said, but the pain was there in her eyes. Her changing of the topic was her way of avoiding the talk of her deceased family. It still stung, yet she still shouldered the burden of being one of the last Warden's. Alistair only wished that he could help her more. Unfortunately, emotional scars were harder to heal then physical.

Teagan sighed and lightly tousled his hair with his fingers. "Every night, creatures come down from the castle and attack the village. We have no Arl to help us, and no King to send us aid. We've heard no news from the castle, and no one there responds to my shouts. Alistair, I hate to ask you of this, but I need the help from you and your friends."

_**Great**__,_ he thought, _you ask my opinion_. He could almost feel the burning eyes of his companions awaiting his answer.

"It isn't just up to me!" he responded passionately, "But I don't see how we have any hope of winning the Landsmeet without his help."

"Of course we shall help," Elissa offered, generous as always.

"How… pointless to help these people in a battle they can't win," Morrigan drawled, "One would think we have enough to contend with elsewhere."

"Must we really help these people?" Sten asked in his monotonous tone. "Don't you have a Blight to fight?"

Leliana gave them a disdainful look to their callousness. "I am glad you've decided to help these poor people. We cannot abandon them to their fate."

"This is wonderful news!" cried Teagan. "Tomas tell Murdock what has transpired here, and then you may return to your post. You should speak with Murdock, the town mayor; he can tell you more on these attacks. Luck be with you friends."

Those five words were obviously a polite dismissal, and Elissa picked up on it and tactfully led them away, outside the Chantry and from the site of complete misery.

Murdock wasn't that hard to find; he was the man barking at the militiamen to improve their aim and strength of arm. He had to be in charge.

"Are you Murdock?" Elissa asked.

"So you're the Grey Warden?" he questioned in a voice rough and gravely. "I didn't think they made women Grey Wardens. We aren't going to turn anyone away that wants to help, though. Don't take me for being an ingrate."

"Well, we do want to help however we can. You can trust us," Alistair said with honesty. He wanted to protect the village if he could. He felt he owed Arl Eamon, even if he had shipped him off to Chantry when he was only ten years of age.

"What is it you need of us?" Elissa asked him with manners he hadn't addressed her with.

"We need what little weapons and armor we have repairing or half of us will be fighting without either tonight. Owen is the only blacksmith in town capable of doing it, but the stubborn fool refuses to even talk. He's locked himself up inside the smithy. Talk to Owen; see if you can convince him to help. If he doesn't, he'll die like the rest of us; and what good will that do anyone?"

"Very well, I'll see if I can convince him to lend aid," Elissa said, and they left Murdock to resume his shouting.

The blacksmith shop was just opposite the Chantry, leaning against the slope of the path down that mountain. It was a shanty hut with crude mud walls and a slanting wooden ceiling, and wooden shutters on the windows that were latched shut. The door was locked tighter than a miser's coin purse, chains and bolts shutting people out and Owen in. Elissa pounded thrice on the thick slab of wood. There was no answer.

"Hello?" she called. "Owen?"

"Who's that? Whaddya want?" a voice replied from behind the door.

"I am Elissa of the Grey Wardens. I would prefer we do not converse with a door betwixt us," was her answer.

"Fine, fine, let me get the locks."

After the scraping sound of about five locks being opened, the door was swung open by an aging man with bedraggled silver hair and a silver beard. When he had ushered them inside and slammed the door closed, Alistair's nostrils were assaulted by the overwhelming stench of cheap ale.

"Maker's breath, it smells like a brewery in here!" Leliana said, voicing Alistair's thoughts.

"Somebody's been drinking," he commented on the horrible smell.

"My name's Owen, though you probably know that already," the blacksmith said in a slightly slurred voice. "Care to join me as I get besotted, or is there something in particular you want?"

"You are the village's blacksmith, no? A native to this town?" she questioned him.

"And what of it?" he responded coolly.

"As an inhabitant of this place, allowed to abide here, to work and peddle your trade. You have obligations to its people. These duties can be paid by aiding the militia. Murdock requires your skills with the forge."

"You came here on Murdock's orders, then? Well, I ask you, why should I help your master when he won't help me?" he asked with anger.

Elissa bristled slightly. "I assure you, Murdock is not my master, and I would ask you the reason for your refusal to help."

"My daughter, Valena, she's all I have, all of what's left of my family since my wife passed on two years back. She's one of the Arlessa's maids, trapped in the castle since those monsters came. But Murdock won't send anyone for her1 I don't know if she's even alive!"

"Where I to promise to venture into the castle and seek out your daughter, would you in return make the repairs Murdock needs?" Elissa asked carefully.

"Yes," he replied, but still reserved hope.

"Then I swear on my honour to find and bring your daughter back to the safety of the village," Elissa vowed with solemnity.

"Oh, how wonderful? Shall we next begin rescuing kittens from trees?" Morrigan asked in a mockingly sweet voice.

"I agree," Sten said. "Saving one girl will not bring us any closer to our goal."

"Enough!" Elissa ordered uncharacteristically angrily. "I have spoken and decided. I will not hear nor heed your protestations."

"Thank you. You've given me something to hope for, at least. Make sure Murdock sends in his men immediately otherwise the repairs won't be done before dusk."

Elissa nodded in acknowledgment to the curt dismissal and took leave of the place. Alistair, and he presumed the rest of the party, where relieved to breathe the fresh air of the village, which carried the familiar scent of salt water and fish. Some people may not like the stench, but to Alistair it smelt like home.

"Murdock!" Elissa hailed him, seemingly cheerfully. "Owen has consented to your demands."

"Good! I'll send my men to him with the arms and armor. There is still time before nightfall. You should go speak to Ser Perth, he may have need of you."

Ser Perth stood atop the hill in front of the windmill, facing down the mountain slope, looking surprisingly jovial considering the circumstances. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he asked them to speak with Mother Hannah, the head of Redcliffe's Chantry about getting the knights some holy protection. Though she was reluctant at first, Elissa managed to convince her that it was for the good of the men, and she relented, telling the she would give Ser Perth amulets that they were to say conferred the Maker's protection.

Once that was done, they had nought to do but wait for the sun to set, and to see with their own eyes the monsters that plagued Redcliffe.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Walking Nightmare

The sun cowered at the commencement of night, slipping under the cover of the horizon. Once the moon had risen to its peak, the nightmare was unleashed. Green mist rolled out from the castle, afterward a whole host of living dead sprinted across, the fog lapping at their rotting legs.

The villagers that had risked one last divulge into their houses for supplies for the night fled in terror to the Chantry, and the militiamen formed ranks, Murdock and his men forming a circled outside of the Chantry, Ser Perth and his men in lines, one score of men each line, creating a solid wall that lay betwixt the monsters and the village. It was here that Elissa and her companions stood, watching the cloud of green sweep toward them, marking their entrance.

Elissa's trembling fingers strayed to the pommels of her weapons. The warm steel was somewhat comforting, a small reminder that she was not vulnerable.

"They're here!" One of the knights cried. In his voice was the unadulterated terror that preyed on all the hearts.

As the corpses bolted down the cliff to them, horrifying visions of Ostagar swirled in her mind, unbidden. The darkspawn that fell upon them, the bloodshed on both sides. The betrayal, then the Grey Wardens being butchered. A solid plan, yet it all became unfurled, reaping nought but chaos and death. What prevented Redcliffe from repeating that instance?

The bile rose at the back of her throat as the army only equalled in it grotesqueness by the darkspawn lumbered towards them, their skin peeled from their bodies, their pale flesh a moment away from sloughing off their skeletons. At some parts, it had already eroded away, revealing bare patches of bones, some missing eyes and other organs. They all wore dented and scratched armor that was as rotted as their bodies, their weapons rusted to the point that not a patch of silver was left; all of their maces, swords, daggers and shields were the copper colour of corrosion.

They did not speak or laugh as the darkspawn had in their own guttural tongue. They remained silent, which was more unsettling.

They paused when they were mere feet away, staring at them and drawing their weapons before they moved another inch. Then the real nightmare commenced.

Steel glinted hostilely with the red hue of the blood that was shed and the fires that sputtered into existence from the massacre, the night sky above soon smothered by smoke. The knights clashed with fury against the endless ocean of reanimated corpses, maintaining their ranks all the while the horrid creatures set upon them, their discipline contrasting against the carnage that had taken root here.

One knights' insides slithered free from the opening made to his lower-abdomen despite the effort he made to maintain the correct placement of his organs, another was decapitated with a single strike, his death knell an aggrieved cry passed from his own lips, the endless deluge of blood seemingly unreal. Panic began to infect the soldier's precarious hope, and the unrest became present within their expressions and body language. The worst offenders endeavoured to completely abandon their cause by fleeing.

"Hold your positions!" Ser Perth ordered, his voice commandeering their disobedience and soothing their fears.

They re-formed their ranks, confidence bolstered by Elissa and her companions volunteering to be the head of the vanguard.

The numbers of the wretched creatures swelled. She signalled Morrigan, prompting her to utilize a fire-spell against the invaders. The flames emitted from her hands engulfed the pathway completely obstructed by the monstrosities. The inferno greedily suckled at what little flesh still belonged to them, sloughing off further more chunks and blackening the bones beneath, turning them brittle. They exploited this new weakness, steel cutting through the sensitized skeletons with as much ease as an arrow would through air. The companions dispersed to cover a wider area, Morrigan remaining closest to the soldiers so as she would be free to cast spells uninterrupted. Alistair and Sten guarded the centre-path whilst Elissa and Leliana attacked from the flanks, to better cover a wider area.

Leliana unsheathed an arrow, nocked an arrow, then loosed. The bolt burrowed into an occupied eye-socket, suppressing an explosion of rotted flesh, fragments of brain and partially coagulated blood. A second arrow aimed for no more than a mere second slashed through the dinted steel plate to where the heart was located, if its heart was still indeed lodged in its body.

Elissa parried a sword targeting her head, forcing it high and rightward, her auxiliary dagger plunging through its mid-torso. She freed it by cutting outwards to the left.

"Archers!" Ser Perth cried, his voice competing for authority over the din of battle. "Volley!"

The bowmen situated behind the vanguard and defence lines aimed their nocked shafts then loosed, showering destruction upon their heads, reducing their number from a surging ocean to a meandering trickle. The action was not ideal so early in, however, as the form of attack was reciprocated. The companions had the sagacity to evade the area of attack, but a few of the knights were less fortunate, their flesh torn open by the crude arrows that were little more than narrow wooden staves with sharpened edges.

Morrigan summoned an icy spell that completely froze the grotesque monstrosities, the swordsmen and women neutralising them, ending their lives with an explosion of frozen blood and flesh, affording the soldiers a brief respite before more appeared from the green depths that smelt of rot. Exhausted as they all were they prepared for the onslaught, reforming the ranks that had loosened.

Sten was the sole fighter that hadn't depleted his stamina in the struggle, and he proved the strength of his race by leaping into the air, then bringing down his sword that concurrently dichotomized two of the corpses, slicing a third one as it bypassed him.

Elissa and Alistair joined their Qunari comrade in the thicket of the battle, the maddening dance of steel making it near impossible to discern friend from foe. Arrows launched by Leliana and Ser Perth's archers rained down fortuitously on the corpses alone, striking down one that would have otherwise been the harbinger for death for the two young Wardens, having nocked a flaming arrow that would have certainly set them alight.

She dove low, beneath the range of a spiked mace determined to wreak malice on her head. After she dodged, she reciprocated the attack by dissecting its abdomen. Though its entrails slithered free, the corpse itself remained active in its pursuit of murder. Alistair concluded its spree with a blade to its throat. The battle seemed to have reached its conclusion, the mountain slope swathed in blood, spilled viscera and corpses that would hopefully remain in their current state of eternal respite. Elissa allowed herself a smile of success, momentarily tasting the victory granted to them. Then one of the militiamen safe-guarding the Chantry approached them with urgency.

"The monsters are attacking from the lake! They're attacking the barricades we need help!" he hollered vociferously.

"Guard the path!" Elissa commanded Ser Perth before joining the combatant to the Chantry.

When they arrived accompanied by a small token force bestowed by Ser Perth, they saw the extent of the attack. The barricades had all but been smashed, reduced to kindling, the fighters numbers had dwindled to a devastatingly low number of one score of men, a quarter if which were wounded, the others their energy and hope greatly emaciated.

Elissa would need to think strategically if they were to be victorious. She positioned Leliana and Morrigan at a distance so they could fire spells and arrows without being over-whelmed by corpses. Alistair, Sten and Elissa joined the vanguard. Among them were five spearmen, twelve swordsman and three archers, the latter joined Leliana and Morrigan.

The corpses emerged from the misty depths of the village; their hunger for bloodshed was evident in the laughter that burst from their shrivelled lips and the malicious glint in their eyes as they regarded the humans that were brought forward for the slaughter.

They charged the lines, sword poised forth. The spearmen lowered their pole-arms to ready themselves for the forth-coming assault. Some of the corpses that were folly enough to lower their defences were pierced upon the point of the spear, whereas others swept aside the long-range weaponry then exploited the opening that they created.

A hail of arrows flew overhead, diving to the sky then swooping down like a flock of enraged birds of prey, their beaks biting deeply into the decaying flesh, then a stream of flames circumvented the living yet sought to consume the dead. Elissa debilitated one corpse, scything into the arm that bore its serrated sword, Alistair sawed its left arm off of from its shoulder, and Sten ended it with gruesome finesse: unseaming the beast crown to crotch. She hastily diverted her eyes away from the sight that would surely unsettle her stomach. More arrows fired by the archers soared aloft behind them then rained destruction down upon the heads, near striking some of their allies. One abraded Elissa's right shoulder, drawing a thin sliver of blood before the very same bolt struck one foe's brow.

The spearmen began using their weapons as projectiles, throwing them at the foes to avoid close proximity with the walking bodies, having witnessed the fate of a portion of their comrades. The spears struck torso, limb and head, riddling holes in their eroding frames. Though their numbers where whittled down, it did little to nullify their desire for battle. They continued, more swarming from unknown depths. Lightning bolts suddenly showered down upon the whole battlefield, fortuitously falling on their adversary's, spending their dying moments in agony with their limbs convulsing.

Afterwards, there was a dead silence. The attack had stopped, no corpses lurching forwards, the soldiers that had survived looking upon the battlefield with horror at their slain brethren, and shock from having survived the night. For over the horizon, the red sun was rising, like a blot of blood diffusing on a continuingly brightening sky. It was done. Redcliffe had been saved.

**Yeah, this chapter kinda sucks :P I've been very depressed lately and have a mild case of writer's block, so please excuse me if it's worse quality than usual! Have a nice day, folks :)**


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